


the lost get found

by Anonymous



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Magic, Case Fic, Consultant!Fuji, Emotions, Falling In Love, Fuji came for the case and stayed for the client, Healing, M/M, Magic, Professor!Tezuka, Slow Burn, Telepathy, and Tezuka gives him more than he bargained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “No, I’m here until I help you get your magicback.” Fuji corrects, smiling proudly.It’s a tad more than he tends to promise from the get-go, but there was something about this case and this man that makes Fuji want to see him at his best, that makes Fuji want to set new precedents, make miracles happen. He’s not sure how he became so convinced of this so fast, but he knows Tezuka’s a good person, with good people on his side. He deserves good things – and Fuji wants to be the one to give that to him, maybe tug that mouth into a smile for once.Maybe it is the warm blanket of light falling outside, or Fuji’s light magic crashing in while he’s distracted, but he catches a twinkle of amber in Tezuka’s eyes. Despite Tezuka’s rigid demeanor, in this moment, his gaze seems to house a dash of tenderness, grateful and trusting, and Fuji feels his throat tighten at the sight.(Or: Tezuka loses his magic in an accident; Fuji helps him find it again.)
Relationships: Fuji Shuusuke/Tezuka Kunimitsu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	1. the exception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vandoorne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandoorne/gifts).



> Title from "The Lost Get Found" by Britt Nicole.

Fuji Shuusuke doesn’t make house calls.

See, that’s the whole point of building up a reputable business. If people want him, they’ll come to him. _The_ Tachibana Kippei had crossed the damn continent during a week-long thunderstorm to track him down after all, so Fuji counts that as a notable accomplishment on his resume. After all, it isn’t like it’s an easy feat to get to him.

Now it isn’t as if he’s trying to hide away per se; he just prefers the energy here. There is something captivating about the region in general, this particular patch of land. Fuji’s been to many enchanted forests in his life. He knows the aura they bring, why mages tend to be drawn to them, those with earth affinities especially. But he wasn’t tricked into settling down here the way some mages might’ve been. For Fuji, it was because he had a good feeling about the forest the second he stepped within its borders, and his good feelings were always bang on.

And it isn’t as if he likes being stuck at home. Quite the contrary, his job takes him far and wide, and Fuji’s no stranger to seeing things through to the end. But there’s something comforting about it all starting from the same place, from a client making the trek to his home, asking him if he’s willing to take a job. Part of the beauty of being a freelancer is exactly this: dictating his own terms and conditions. It’s been quite some time since he made a name for himself, enough to survive without the employ of any of the major magical associations, even thrive. And in that time, Fuji’s realized just how picky he can allow himself to be now.

Besides, anyone who’s not willing to journey into a remote enchanted forest for his services just aren’t serious enough – and based off his experience, there are plenty of people who are.

So, Fuji’s created a system of sorts since he became popular.

First, they have to find him.

Where he lives is an open secret. It doesn’t take too much work to find out if one knows the right people to talk to. Fuji’s plenty confident in his own seals and abilities that he doesn’t mind making his residence his primary place of work. But what he’s testing is if the client will take those necessary steps to find him, and of course, that they can afford him.

Getting to where Fuji lives, a couple of days out from any major city, is both a time and likely monetary commitment. Enchanted forests, first and foremost, are protected from being reached via magical means, the most common being teleportation arrays. The closest point of access to him then, is at least half a day’s hike. That always felt like a bare minimum kind of commitment to Fuji, getting off their butt to actually walk somewhere. For that effort, Fuji will listen to their problem. Even more so if they found some other ingenious way to get to him.

Regardless, despite teleportation arrays becoming widely commercialized with non-mages in recent years, they still didn’t exactly come cheap. So, spending one on the trip signalled that the problem they wanted Fuji to help solve was a big deal, at least from their perspective.

Which leads to the second part of his system: the actual problem at hand. 

By the time they actually arrive, it’s at least comforting to think that Fuji doesn’t turn down many clients. Sometimes, the issue isn’t so interesting, but if he had the time, he figures, what the hell. Other times, he’d just refer them off to an expert instead, and brush off the majority of his usual hefty fee.

Every time he hears a knock on the door, Fuji’s attention would flutter with anticipation. That’s why he just hangs up whenever he gets a call detailing a sob story or another – he likes the surprise. Plus, see factor number one.

But of course, there have been times when Fuji’s been swamped and just couldn’t take more work on, and other times, well, there are some crazy people out there.

And then, there’s those people who come to him, pleading for help with their arduous, proclaimed urgent problem – when in fact that only rose from a distorted sense of self-importance. 

For example, once, a man named Mizuki whatshisname had came to find him at Yuuta’s urging. Now, Fuji was certainly never one to deny his little brother anything, but damn was that man the most self-absorbed person he’s ever met. It had taken so long to pry the issue out from his lips that Fuji almost didn’t want to hear it – and when he did, he was instantly sure it was not worth his time. If not for Yuuta, Fuji would have forcibly expelled him out the door! But instead, he sat there and listened to Mizuki’s story for over an hour before whipping him up a quick cleansing brew, a semi-detailed reading, and resolutely declaring that his bad luck was in fact, all in his head.

This case, however, is an exception.

The client was a referral from an old mentor and friend of his, Ryuzaki Sumire, on behalf of one of her professors. Fuji had promised to take the case on as soon as the man knocks on his door, but got woefully taken out of his element when Sumire stated that he wouldn’t be doing that at all.

“Why not? You know how I operate; I can’t take his case if he doesn’t see me.” Fuji had asked, more curious than annoyed.

And then Sumire broke his second rule and proceeded to tell Fuji exactly why. And whether out of longstanding respect or just pure intrigue, Fuji didn’t tell her to stop.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.” She had said.

“That’s what you always say.” Fuji had retorted.

“But I got your attention, didn’t I?”

Indeed, that she did.

That brings him to today. Ironically, his newest client also so happens to live on the border of an enchanted forest. Fuji had begrudgingly drawn up an old hasty teleportation array himself, rusty as he was, but he didn’t mind taking a detour if the exact coordinates were slightly off. It isn’t like the cities, labeled doors and straight roads, so he’s not expecting a perfect landing by any means. He just hoped it wasn’t too far of a detour.

Luckily for Fuji, he was only about an hour off the mark. After admiring the scenery along the route, all sky-tall willows and wistful brooks, Fuji finally stops in front of the small bungalow, pleased to have made it to his destination.

But since he’s a professional, there’s no harm in checking. He drops his suitcase by his feet and pulls out a crumpled scroll from his back pocket. Unfurling it, he waves his hand over the ink on the page. A smoky image rises from the page, splaying out like a projection, wispy and dreamlike. Fuji glances up at the house, and then at the mini house flickering in his palm, and smiles.

He made it.

The house before him is not large at all. In fact, Fuji would call it kind of small, homey even. It’s a flat one-storey dwelling with ocher-coloured tiles for walls, a dark red roof with a matching door. There’s a set of silver windchimes hung up above the door, a classic guest screening tool. At a first glance, it looks to be charmed with multiple layers of enchantments and seals, as expected from a professor under Sumire’s employ, but none of them threatens Fuji.

So, Fuji reaches out and touches it, signaling his arrival. It sways gently from the touch of his fingers, the sound vibrating, crisp and beautiful. He hears it echo inside too, the same melody but in a different tone. By the sounds of it, an intention spell, a mirror charm, maybe even a magical affinity check. The latter wouldn’t help his client anyway, Fuji thinks soulfully.

Then he hears sturdy doorsteps from inside, rising in volume until they stop at the door. A heartbeat later, it swings open – and on the other side is a man who Fuji presumes must be his client.

He’s tall, taller than Fuji, almost as tall as the door frame itself. His expression is unexpectedly stoic, faint frown lines across his forehead and a matching frown gracing his lips.

To be honest, it catches Fuji off guard, because people are usually so grateful for his presence that he’s used to being greeted with anywhere from an ecstatic smile to downright euphoria. This man on the other hand, Tezuka, if he remembers the name correctly, looks at him through a pair of glasses and narrow eyes as if Fuji’s just another irksome solicitor going door to door.

As if he’s not Fuji Shuusuke.

It’s – huh, actually kind of refreshing. It relieves the pressure in a way.

Because he’s here for two reasons: as a favour, and to satiate his own curiosity. Sumire had given him an overview of the case, and given what he knew, his first impression was frankly blank and a little stumped. Not that Fuji’s planning to fail, but it’d be best if his client didn’t pin all his future hopes and dreams on him being able to work a miracle.

“I’m Fuji Shuusuke. You requested me?” He asks, giving the other man his best, most professional smile, just a few notches shy of dazzling.

Tezuka gives him a firm nod and steps aside, bowing ever so slightly, seemingly unaffected. How polite of him.

“Of course. Please come in. I’m Tezuka Kunimitsu, I believe Ryuzaki Sumire contacted you.” Tezuka answers and steps aside.

His voice is deep, calm, like nothing could shake him.

Nodding, Fuji takes Tezuka up on the invite and steps inside the confines of Tezuka’s home, dusting off the soles of his boots on the doormat. 

“She did … and promised me it’d be worth my while.” Fuji smiles, eyes curled in their usual crescent moons. They remain for a second before he drops it in favour of taking a look around.

The interior is neat, _really neat,_ not a speck of dirt to be seen. It’s quite a feat, really, especially if it’s done without magical means. The colours around the room are warm, but erring on the side of neutral, minimal furniture placed around in optimal placements to allow for more open space. It feels like a place built for one, an air of efficiency attached to it. There is thought put into it too though. Fuji can tell by the hung paintings and quilted blankets on the sofa, flavour and taste befitting a professor.

“I appreciate you being here. Please.”

Fuji looks up to see Tezuka gesturing him towards the living room table, set up with four chairs despite every indication that Tezuka lives alone.

Getting right down to business huh, Fuji thinks to himself, but follows the other man’s lead and takes a seat, tucks himself in.

“Coffee? Tea?”

Fuji shakes his head.

“Water is fine.”

Tezuka follows suit and returns with two clear glasses of water, and sets them down on two wooden coasters. Fuji takes one with a quiet thank you, takes a sip before placing it back down.

“So, Sumire told me the gist, but I’d really like to hear the full story from you, Tezuka.” Fuji begins to say, propping his elbows onto the table to lean forward slightly.

Instead of launching into his story, the way his clients tend to immediately do, Tezuka furrows his eyebrows, his lips still tightly lined.

“You call her Sumire?”

Fuji blinks his eyes open in surprise, but then he quickly remembers to revert to their usual crinkled smile.

“Well, ever since I helped her with Gakuto’s anti-gravitational potion incident, we agreed to be on a first name basis. It’s weird, I know, given how long I’ve known her.” Fuji explains, chuckling to himself.

“Gakuto … I remember. You did a good job with fixing him up.” Tezuka says sincerely.

Fuji smiles at the recognition. So, Tezuka has heard of him.

“You’re one of her professors, right? You must be familiar with my work then, though I apologize, I haven’t met you before.”

The first time Fuji had answered Ryuzaki Sumire’s call after graduating was a couple of years back. Ever since, she’d proceeded to toss a student or two his way periodically to seek his help. Fuji never made any exceptions for her students either, in fact, floating the idea that if it gets too tough for them, that it could double as one of their final examinations. Sumire, with a roaring laugh, said she’ll take it under advisement.

Hence, despite having seen quite a few Seigaku students, Fuji’s only set foot on its campus only a handful of times. Even then, whenever he was there, he tended to look at the students’ behaviour, not so much the professors.

Tezuka though, thinking about it now, looked a little young to be a professor. Despite his ultra serious expression and the way he’s dressed, a dark sweeping mage’s robe despite it being the middle of summer, Fuji guesstimated Tezuka couldn’t be much older than him.

Which is to say, fairly young, at least by his books.

Then again…Fuji would consider himself more than qualified to teach at Seigaku, so maybe Tezuka was too. He’d have to be, to come under Sumire’s employ.

Tezuka must have not gone to Seigaku then, if they don’t know each other, the thought flashes through Fuji’s head. Maybe he’s from out of continent, studied at Shitenhoji or something.

“I am. And I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” Tezuka answers, but again, not in a way Fuji’s used to. No elaboration, just curt, straight to the point, his expression so still it was statue-like.

“Me too. Anyway, this house call is a favour, if you know of my usual policies?” Fuji presses on, his smile Cheshire-like.

It’s not like Fuji’s no good at small talk, but this feels a bit bizarre to him. For a moment, Fuji contemplates that perhaps he’s losing his charm, because most of his clients, while frustrated at their ordeal, at least cracks a smile at his easygoing tone.

“And I am very grateful, Fuji.” Tezuka answers back with a serious nod.

_Still nothing, wow._

“Anyway, that must explain why she was so eager to have me help you. You must be one of her favourites.” Fuji teases, switching tactics.

He’s been here for five minutes and he doesn’t think he’s even seen Tezuka’s mouth go higher than barely level. He could only imagine how his students would feel in his classroom every day, being stared down with such intensity.

Probably terrified.

“I just try to do my job, which has been difficult to do as of late.” Tezuka replies, shooting Fuji’s compliment down politely.

Oh.

“It’s still gone, huh?” Fuji asks softly after a pause, gazing at Tezuka with thinly veiled sympathy from across the table.

Tezuka grimaces for a split second, but it fades just as quickly.

“I wouldn’t waste your time here if it had returned.” He says solemnly.

Fuji doesn’t know Tezuka at all, not really, but from what little he knows, that statement sounds quite apt.

He also can’t tell if Tezuka usually looked like he was trained to be a covert spy, taught to never show emotion lest he get caught, or just has a stick stuck up his ass, but he has a vague feeling that this could either work in his favour or very much against it. To Fuji, Tezuka Kunimitsu comes across very honest, but also very restrained. It isn’t so much whether or not he trusts Tezuka’s words so much as he’d wonder if he’s missing something, if there’s something Tezuka isn’t sharing with him that could be pertinent to his case.

But they won’t get anywhere if Tezuka doesn’t talk, and it didn’t seem like he was the type to launch into it without some prodding.

So, Fuji takes the initiative and asks again, letting his smile finally fall.

“Would you start at the beginning? What happened the day your magic vanished?”

This is his job after all, and he does take it and his reputation seriously. After all, it is one of his many prized possessions, his spotless record. It’s that which allows him to pick and choose his clients, to do his job the way he wants to, without the bureaucracy of all the other agencies breathing down his back.

It also so happens to a job he liked, one he’s proud of.

It’d just be silly if he broke his own self-imposed rules for a case that he ended up failing at. 

Good thing Fuji Shuusuke doesn’t intend to fail.


	2. the story

Tezuka tells his story via terse, matter-of-fact sentences.

Which is fine for Fuji. He’s always had a vivid imagination, and he’s good at filling in the gaps. His gut check, as always, was right on the mark. It isn’t that Tezuka doesn’t like offering details, so much as he naturally has a tendency to be as brief as possible.

It’s a different kind of magic, the kind he wishes some of his clients could have a bit more of.

Tezuka starts off by giving some background on the academy itself, as a prelude to the incident at hand. Once upon a time, Fuji had also attended Seigaku for a short while, so the details of the academy operations were mostly familiar to him. He learns that Tezuka was homeschooled, rather self-taught, which was awfully impressive.

And then he learns about what exactly Tezuka teaches at Seigaku, a subject that didn’t exist when Fuji went there.

The interesting thing about Seigaku is how freeing it is. It isn’t the most selective academy. In fact, it’s one of the least selective because of the way it’s set up. If a student wanted to treat it as a boarding school, there were suites within the barriers of the academy. It was also not too far from the nearest city, where some students would choose to stay instead, summering or working while taking classes part time. There were basic classes, like getting to know the fundamentals of one’s affinity, or magical self defence. For those who wanted to eventually join a magical association in some capacity, there were prep classes for their entrance exams, workshops on the history of magic and the intersection between mages and non-mages and how that relationship had evolved through time to their now mutual understanding and co-existence. There were more optional classes than mandatory, and with a good enough excuse, you could get around the mandatory ones too. Fuji knows there were some students who’d drop by for a semester for a special seminar and teleport back home soon after. It’s the kind of thing Seigaku allows, and what gave it its current reputation of taking every protégé with magical potential and helping them the best they can.

It makes sense. After all, it was the first ever magical academy, so it would always continue to be relevant. But Sumire and her predecessors were determined to be more than just a historical relic, and hence how the current system was shaped.

Which brings him to Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Being a professor at Seigaku, he’s naturally a gifted mage. Of the elemental affinities, Tezuka identifies most strongly with wind, but he doesn’t teach those fundamental classes. Instead, he’s known for a selective course that gets more applicants each year than any other – the experimental class.

Magical experimentation by its very nature is a niche field, a lawless land where the rules are only determined after a shit ton of blow ups. Despite all the different ways mages over the centuries have tried to classify magic into its various forms, they haven’t been able to nail down everything to an exact science. Fuji himself is an anomaly that way, so he gets it. It’s impossible to map out every potential magical reaction, but that doesn’t stop people from trying.

And ever since the peace treaties, when mages and non-mages agreed to set up binding magical associations to act as the bridge between them, the field has only blossomed. Because magic is enticing to those who have it – but also those who don’t – and just because one couldn’t teleport themselves didn’t mean they couldn’t grab onto someone who could.

So, the products kept coming, ones that were compatible with non-mages as well as mages. The associations kept a careful eye over it, approving and legislating usage before releasing anything for mass consumption, lest it blows up in their faces. It made certain mages like Inui Sadaharu famous (ignoring his first few patent attempts) and not only was it immensely satisfying, it was also highly profitable. The proliferation of it led to the creation of the class designed specifically for students to try to make their ideas come to life in a safe, controlled environment.

Tezuka was the man at the helm for that. He seemingly had a knack for guiding students, encouraging ideas with potential and seeing them in new angles, rounding them out to completion when it came time.

When Tezuka says matter-of-factly that all the products he’s signed off on were ever rejected by a magical association branch, Fuji swears his jaw dropped a little.

Those bastards were picky and they were thorough and Fuji knew very well that it really spoke to Tezuka’s reputation that he could get student-made products through to them without a hitch.

Then he hears how many he’s actually signed off on in the past six years and can’t help but break into a small giggle.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s still impressive though, getting them to the markets.” Fuji explains, looking up at Tezuka apologetically after his mini-laughing fit calms down.

The look in Tezuka’s eyes tells Fuji he’s not offended, and he even takes the time to wait for Fuji to collect himself before he keeps going.

It’s the meat of the problem – but the way Tezuka tells it is so simple.

While on patrol, he catches two of his students, Echizen Ryoma and Kirihara Akaya in an argument. Unauthorized fights involving magic weren’t allowed without supervision at Seigaku, but they were already in the thick of it, throwing out some spells and what looked to be curses that Tezuka couldn’t identify at first glance.

When he stepped in to break them up, he got caught in the crossfire and was knocked out for a day.

And when he came to, his magic was gone.

Or, in Tezuka’s words, it was more like he could still feel the magical energy swirling inside him, but with no way to release it.

It sounds like a classic case of magical suppression, but that would be too easy.

“How long ago was this again?” Fuji asks softly.

“Almost six weeks.”

Yeah, unlikely to be so simple, but Fuji didn’t get to where he is by not covering all his bases, even the dumb ones.

“It sounds as if your nodes are shut or stuck somehow. But if this is an ordinary case, by four weeks, you should be okay by now.” Fuji says.

Fuji leans forward a little to look straight at Tezuka from across the table, sitting upright and stiff as a board, and wonders for a brief moment if maybe his nodes were sealed shut all along given how uptight he was.

“Yes. That’s what the healers said too, but I’ve gotten the all clear … thrice.” Tezuka answers.

“What exactly did they say when they cleared you?” Fuji insists.

Healers tend to be thorough, but they weren’t always the tenacious type. In Fuji’s experience, depending on who, some skip around the exact words of their patient’s affliction, and based on a hunch, Fuji figures Tezuka wouldn’t have pressed on the matter.

After all, it took him six weeks to call Fuji here, on a problem that usually resolves itself in closer to two if it isn’t serious.

“That they see the node blockages, but that it will take time to open back up.”

“But you’ve given it time. And after checking again, they were still unable to find any residual damage?”

“Yes. The blockages persist, but there’s no obvious lingering effects from a malintent spell or anything of the sort. It’s most likely mental, they hypothesized, and there was some indication of that in the examination they ran the last time. But given the circumstances, they weren’t sure it added up.” Tezuka explains.

Fuji nods, taking it all in. He understands where the healers were coming from. He suffered a backlash from a magical blowback, which more than likely directly caused his magic to be locked shut given the timing. It could be emotional trauma from the event, but if Fuji was a betting man, he’d put money instead on the underlying cause stemming from whatever Tezuka got hit by.

What it was, he doesn’t yet know. But it must be something interesting if it isn’t showing up on a diagnosis.

“Who oversaw this?” Fuji questions, putting a pin in his earlier thought.

“Oishi Shuichiro.”

A renowned healer; one of the best. Only fitting, given Tezuka and Sumire’s reach. He’s worked with Oishi before, so unfortunately his hopeful theory of a bad healing diagnosis was quickly receding in likelihood. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t harm anyone to check again, this time with Fuji asking the right questions.

“I’ll contact him to get him to run things again, so I can take a look too if you don’t mind.” Fuji tackles on the last bit only as a courtesy. “Now, I know you said your affinity is wind, and anything that requires physical expulsion or manifesting is effectively dead. But what about anything non-physical?” 

Tezuka hums to himself, glancing down in his lap.

“I do feel it. It’s weaker, but it’s there, pulsing. It could be like my physical affinity though; I haven’t tested it out to be sure.” He says.

“Why not?”

The permanent frown on Tezuka’s face deepens a few degrees.

“It’s telepathy. I don’t use it lightly without permission.”

Fuji’s eyes widen at the confession. That is a rare one indeed, not to mention one that usually isn’t tied to a wind affinity – more commonly associated with light and darkness.

“How strong is it?”

“Strong enough that I don’t enjoy using it.” Tezuka answers, his tone a shade more displeased than usual.

It convinces Fuji that he probably didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that, so he has no idea why he says this next.

“Try it on me. I give you permission.”

Express approval aside, Fuji’s words don’t seem to give Tezuka much reprieve. His frown lines sink in even deeper, one fist clenched. He’s avoiding Fuji’s eye contact, instead staring intensely at his hand, flexing it open, then closed, as if testing something.

“Telepathy doesn’t need your hand to function, does it?” Fuji jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

A short pause, and then:

“No, it doesn’t. I was just thinking, and I’m not okay with invading you this way.” Tezuka states.

“Mind reading, you mean.” Fuji clarifies.

Although the official statement of the power was telepathy, chances are that the user was most likely only able to convey in one direction. Telepathy, however, technically implies a potential meeting of the minds, something that only happens when two telepathy users meet, an exceptional occurrence given the rarity of the ability among other things.

“Right.” Tezuka affirms.

“Well, don’t worry about that. I’m a user too,” Fuji confesses easily, “I know what I can handle, and I can kick you out if need be.”

If Tezuka was surprised at his admission, his expression didn’t show it. Fuji’s beginning to wonder if anything can faze the other man. Tezuka might have come clean about his ability because it was Fuji asking, but Fuji liked to keep this part of his magic to himself. It works nicely as a trump card, a real open secret, something better left as a rumour.

“I’m rusty, and I don’t want to intrude. It’s very personal.” Tezuka says, dropping his hands back in his lap.

“If it is as you say, weakened, then the best way for me to ascertain how much is for you to test it on me. I’m here to help you, remember? You have to trust me on this.” Fuji replies, smiling softly to set Tezuka at ease.

Maybe in Tezuka’s hollow pauses, Fuji can memorize his mannerisms, the shape of his frown, the exact angle that he hasn’t been successful at raising one bit since they met.

“I understand.” Tezuka nods in agreement at last. Even so, he looks uneasy, fiddling with one wrist seemingly beneath the table.

“Whenever then. I’m ready.” Fuji spurs him on, and finally opens his eyes.

Their eyes meet. Fuji prepares himself just as Tezuka’s eyes flash for a moment, flickering between bronze and bright sapphire, the exact tint of Fuji’s own.

And then he feels it, a foreign presence settling in his mind space.

Fuji had openly invited him in, yes, but to be honest, he’d never gone through this before. It’s rare for a reason, so he too had never met another telepathy user. He knows the basics of shielding. Maybe they weren’t strong enough – or better yet, Fuji just had no benchmark to judge against, since this too, was brand new for him.

Tezuka – ironically – reads his mind.

_Does it feel strange, being on the other side?_

_It does. Can you hear me too?_

_I can._

_Good. I’m good. Try to find a memory, an embarrassing one, or an old one. Something difficult to do. See how you fare. I’ll try to stop you to make it harder the second time if it’s too easy initially._

_…okay._

As righteous as Tezuka was about respecting people’s boundaries and privacy, the few times Fuji had used this gift of his, he was certainly not as kind. This was a test after all to see if Tezuka’s other magical fronts had also diminished in power, and so far, he seemed to be faring quite well. But Fuji’s in this line of work for a reason – he’s a curious person! So, it goes without saying that he’s wondering just how strong Tezuka is compared to himself. For Fuji, even at his best, he could only scrape by some surface level memories. A deep dive would take a lot out of him, so he would usually manipulate the person he was going after to think about the event in question before he went for the jugular, just to save time for all involved.

He isn’t prepared for when Tezuka’s voice rings true in his head again, much sooner than he anticipated.

_You were often mistaken as a girl until you were eight._

_Thanks for bringing that up – indeed I was._

_I don’t know if I consider that embarrassing, but it is where you filed it._

Fuji staggers back a little in his head, amused and a little proud. Did Tezuka not think that kind of thing was embarrassing either? Furthermore, he put it on top of the pile just to test him with a memory that he was honestly perfectly okay with exposing.

_I don’t either. I found it rather flattering, actually._

_I see that you guard yourself well, Fuji. I see you were right in that I didn’t have to worry._

_Glad we agree on that. Now try again, grab something else. I’ll try to make it challenging this time by deliberately trying to shut you out._

Fuji is met with silence, and then –

_I can’t. I’m blocked off._

It worked.

_Can you usually get through those?_

_I have never tested it against another telepathy user, but I’d think yes._

It isn’t arrogant, but it’s the way Tezuka’s thoughts travel to him, self-assured but also a little somber, resigned. He’s never shared his mind space with anyone before, but it’s a little surreal. Tezuka’s emotions are easier to feel here as opposed to reading blindly out there, a jumbled mess of muted hope and frustration.

Maybe Tezuka can only let down his guard in his head, and when he’s out in the real world, he becomes a lifelike statue.

_I understand. From this, I’d guess you’re maybe at 30% capacity? Unless there are more powers you haven’t shared with me?_

_Not on this front._

_Then, please close the door on your way out._

Fuji stumbles back in his seat, his mind still reeling from the first joint telepathy experience he’s ever shared. It feels bizarre now, an empty space in his head from where Tezuka had been moments before.

In turn, Tezuka’s back is not straightened for once. He looks horribly exhausted, on the verge of collapsing onto his forearms.

“That took a lot out of you too huh. That’s not normal either.” Fuji breathes out. He’s still catching his breath, but even without looking at himself in a mirror, he knows he’s faring much better than Tezuka right now.

“No… it isn’t.” Tezuka answers, low and throaty.

Draining his energy despite being able to manifest it, physical affinities being stuck within his body, it all pointed to a curse of some sort. Perhaps it was partially in his head, partially due to something the healers can’t discern.

“This was helpful. Let’s take a break and pick this up later after you get some more rest. I’ll call Oishi to see when he can get here to do another examination, and we can talk about Echizen and Kirihara more while we wait.” Fuji says, standing up from the table.

Tezuka wrinkles his nose in protest.

“You don’t need to bother Oishi with this.”

“I do, in fact. This is my job, and I happen to be very good at it because I cover everything, even things that’s been done before. You know, to make sure it’s been done right.”

Tezuka makes a low groaning sound in response, though at a quick glance, it’s evident that it wasn’t because of what Fuji said. He’s leaning on the back of his chair at an angle now, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead like it would cure an awful migraine, his lips tightly drawn.

This may be the peak of Tezuka’s emotion that Fuji’s seen since they met.

“Do you need me to carry you to bed too?” Fuji teases.

Tezuka withdraws his hand to shoot him a look, fused between disdain and confusion until Fuji makes a waving gesture with his hands. Tezuka was taller than him, built sturdier even given the robes hiding just how much. Fuji’s strong, but he wasn’t going to risk dropping Tezuka just so he could get a reaction out of him.

“What … are your affinities?”

Clever, already figured out he has more than one, though that too may be an open secret by now.

“I’ll tell you after your nap, alright?” Fuji huffs out, rolling his eyes.

For such a stern man, he can be a bit of a baby. Must be the overly stubborn thing, but even Tezuka has to admit that he’s in no state to keep going.

But Tezuka doesn’t budge from his seat. Fuji’s about to forcefully drag him to the couch or something when Tezuka mumbles out something under his breath.

“Come again?”

Tezuka clears his throat, eyes glazed over as he tosses his head over the back of the chair, exposing his Adam’s apple as he swallows visibly.

“I can’t. I’m expecting a student in twenty minutes.”


	3. the lesson

A student – right. How could Fuji have forgotten?

The reason why he’s here instead of Tezuka making the journey to see him instead was because despite being on sick leave, some of his students still wanted to see him, keep him apprised of their progress. Tezuka didn’t live too far from Seigaku, so it wasn’t an arduous journey by any means. And Tezuka, good, stubborn professor that he is, didn’t want to take a real indeterminate leave just to see Fuji. Even for something as important as permanent magic loss.

He remembers thinking back then that the case was interesting, but the dedication to his students was sweet too, an honourable reason, one he didn’t mind making a small exception for.

But _still._

“You should’ve said something.” Fuji murmurs.

“I meant to. This took longer than I expected, and … took more out of me than I anticipated as well.” Tezuka sighs, sounding resigned, yet brutally honest.

“I really appreciate you cooperating with me, but I’m not always right. At the end of the day, it’s your case, your decision. You can say no to me, and you shouldn’t have pushed yourself if it hurt.” Fuji replies carefully.

It’s always hard, to walk that fine line between professionalism and empathy.

“I promise you that I did not do it on purpose, Fuji. I didn’t feel anything until afterwards.” He replies seriously, despite how exhausted he sounds.

Fuji wonders if he’s even up for teaching in his current state, but the likelihood of Tezuka listening to him on this front was pretty miniscule by his estimates, especially after his little speech about him being able to say no to Fuji.

“Alright. I believe you.” Fuji says, giving in.

It surprises himself, how those words were mostly truth and less so out of comfort, the way he intended them to be. 

After all, the first rule of taking on clients is to not trust them unless they give you a reason to. More times than not, they leave out crucial information, or rephrase important parts of the story to depict themselves in a better light. He remembers when Atobe Keigo’s family had hired him to track down their kidnapped son, only for him to find out that he was not kidnapped, but in fact had deliberately ventured off to make a business for himself. Fuji wasn’t in the field of kidnapping himself, despite running into the occasional criminal in his consulting work. So as good as the money was, he had forsaken it and broken off the contract under guise of purposeful lies.

But somehow, against his better experience, against his normal intuition, he believes Tezuka. Something about Tezuka’s steadfast responses, the unblinking certainty in those sharp copper-tinted eyes screams integrity.

“Thank you. Do you have a … calming elixir or anything on hand by any chance?” He asks.

Fuji shakes his head.

“No, but I’ll do you one better.”

He makes his way behind Tezuka’s seat and places both his hands atop Tezuka’s shoulders. The other man immediately tenses beneath Fuji’s fingers, as if touch itself is foreign to him.

“Relax,” he whispers and releases a stream of healing energy downwards into Tezuka’s skin.

“You’re a healer.” Tezuka says, a little breathlessly, awed. At those words, Fuji feels the tightness ease up a little, and he packs some more in, hoping to speed up the process.

“I’m not that good, but I do know some tricks.” Fuji winks, and then catches himself afterwards, somewhat embarrassed. After all, he was facing Tezuka’s back _._

They remain that way for a few quiet minutes as Fuji works the tension out of him, filling him up with more strength while trying to suck out residual stress. It’s not an easy task, and Fuji isn’t very practiced at it, but then Tezuka’s breathing starts to slow to a calming rhythm at his ministrations, which must be a good sign.

“Tell me. About your affinities.” Tezuka says suddenly.

Fuji hums in acknowledgement and guides his hands up the nape of Tezuka’s neck until he’s semi-cradling Tezuka’s head from behind, a tickle of dark brown hair beneath his fingertips.

“I’m one of the people who don’t identify with any single affinity. Instead, I can access all of them. My magic’s boundless that way, or at least that’s how Seigaku called it. It does mean I’m not particularly outstanding at any of them, but I’ve also never failed at any magical endeavour I’ve tried.” Fuji explains.

“I think you’re outstanding as it is. I don’t know anyone like you.” Tezuka says without pause, like he had suspected it all along.

When they had first met a couple of hours ago, Fuji had liked the fact that Tezuka wasn’t fawning over him and his reputation - or the rumours of it. It’s that very fact which makes this compliment hit harder than it otherwise would have.

That, and also how Tezuka simply said it, like it wasn’t anything special.

It’s always been the client who begged for Fuji to notice them, the appeal of their case, something worth Fuji’s time. He doesn’t recall it ever being the other way, yearning to prove he was the right hire, to prove that he was deserving of his reputation.

“I don’t know anyone like me either. It’s why I kind of chose this job. I can relate to every mage I’ve taken on, more personally than most.”

Tezuka lets out a soft groan when Fuji removes his hands, taking his healing light energy with him. Without a word, he pushes the table off to the side so Tezuka’s no longer constrained by it, and then steps in front of him. Their eyes lock onto each other’s again, just like before their telepathy session.

This time, Fuji takes the lead. He sinks down to his knees and reaches his arms up slowly. Tezuka remains perfectly still, perfectly silent, waiting.

Fuji takes it – and cups Tezuka’s face with both hands.

The man before him is cold to the touch, which causes Fuji to shiver a little. This time, he’s not doing anything except trying to impart a little body heat. Tilting his chin up, Fuji glances up at Tezuka, whose mouth is still firmly closed, looking down at him in turn.

“Is this okay? Direct skin contact is better for navigating the area.” Fuji asks, pressing in warmth the best he can, skin against skin, a purely magicless transaction.

“I would say … if it wasn’t, if it bothered me.” Tezuka replies, and that’s all the permission Fuji needs.

It’s easier, doing this from the front so he can watch for any adverse reactions from Tezuka, in case he’s out of his depth. Both his limited energy and experience are being pushed to the brim, straining, dripping, before it finally runs dry.

“Hah … better?” Fuji pants.

Tezuka blinks his eyes open, evidently having closed them on reflex or out of respect. Fuji’s greeted by not quite a smile, but it isn’t an obvious frown either. But he does look more refreshed now at least; Fuji did that. It’s a rewarding feeling, accomplishing this with his own hands, having it work out.

“Now who’s the one pushing themselves?”

_Is that even a … little bit of humour behind that sentence?_

Fuji cracks a smile, stretching and making a big show out of his mobility.

“I’m fine, just a by-product of being a jack of all trades. Besides, you made me come here so you could continue teaching your students, so it’d be a moot point if you were too out of it to teach in the first place. Speaking of which … is there a place I can go to, while you teach them?”

Tezuka only shrugs in response.

“You can stay. I don’t mind.”

“Hey, I don’t want to intrude, I’m sure your student wouldn’t want that either.” Fuji waves his hands out in a sheepish protest.

Tezuka shoots him another look. Fuji’s getting used to them, each one serious but also a unique blend of emotions trapped beneath the surface. This one was a cross between nonchalance and exasperation.

“I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet Fuji Shuusuke, actually. But there’s a guest room upstairs if you’d rather wait the hour.”

There’s still a burning mystery here left to solve, but an hour alone with his thoughts isn’t likely to speed that up. Besides, if it indeed was a mental block, perhaps chatting with Tezuka’s students will give him more insight into what kind of person Tezuka is.

After all, no one likes to admit their emotional shortcomings out loud, something magical curses love to feed on.

Too stubborn, too serious, too curt with his words.

Fuji has a pretty good list of attributes already built up, all of which could twist and manifest into its own breed of magical nightmare. Yet, he finds himself wanting more, needing to round out the image of Tezuka Kunimitsu before diving into his affliction, his case.

“No, I’ll stay.”

The sound of the bell chime reverberates around the house, signaling the arrival of the student in question. Immediately, Fuji feels the power of the charm from the other side of the door. A distinct magical signature seeps through the room, one Tezuka recognizes with a firm nod.

“I’ll get it.” Fuji offers, already in motion.

He’s met with a tall young man donning spiky black hair, long dark eyebrows, and a huge, and boy does he means _huge_ , goofy grin on his face.

“Fuji Shuusuke? Professor, you did it after all!” He exclaims with twice as much vigor as Fuji was mentally prepared for. After spending the morning with Tezuka, Fuji must have forgotten the regular spectrum of human emotion. 

“It was Ryuzaki who called him in, actually.” Tezuka corrects, shaking his head politely.

“Oh, of course. The headmistress is tired of this too. I mean, so am I. I want to see you well again, and I miss all the equipment back at the classroom too,” he rambles on, rubbing his head sheepishly. He walks towards the table where Tezuka was still situated, clearly at ease, and Fuji follows a few steps behind.

“This is temporary, I promise. That is why she invited him here. Fuji, this is Momoshiro Takeshi, one of my students from Seigaku.” Tezuka introduces.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Fuji reaches out his hand and Momoshiro instantly takes it with both of his, no fear or shyness to be found.

“Call me Momo. So glad you’re here to help out Professor Tezuka, I mean, honestly, it’s about time.” He says with a touch of exasperation, shaking Fuji’s hand repeatedly.

Fuji chuckles lightly, disentangling his hand from Momoshiro’s as sneakily as he could.

“I’m happy to help. This is… an interesting case. I haven’t seen anything like it before.”

Momoshiro slumps down into his seat.

“That’s what everyone said. But when you’re out of options, you know what they say, hire Fuji Shuusuke.”

Fuji rolls his eyes fondly, because well, that _is_ what they say.

And not so deep down, he knows he deserves that kind of praise, even if he doesn’t necessarily like saying it all the time.

“I will try my best. But that’s not why you’re here, right Momo? Just pretend I’m not even here.”

Momoshiro pouts as if he’s been asked of the impossible, but turns back to Tezuka, now suddenly the perfect image of obedience and respect. Fuji watches, somewhat entertained by the effect Tezuka has on people, and settles himself in by the couch to observe exactly what kind of professor he is.

Tezuka isn’t much of a conventional teacher, Fuji finds. He doesn’t talk much but you can tell he’s patient. Plus, the way he talks to Momo really drives home exactly why he’s been so insistent on not pausing his lessons, despite having issues with his own magic.

Besides, Fuji isn’t sure if there is a good substitute out there for what Tezuka brings to the table as he listens to Momo walk through the process map of his strength-enhancing talisman - and gets subtly torn apart at every step.

“Draw it again. Without shaking this time.” Tezuka commands.

Momo obeys, clenching his teeth. Unfortunately, his hand wobbles as he attempts to close the loop on the parchment.

“It’s going to cause a short circuit if you do that. If it’s too difficult to do because you need so much precision, then it’ll be more likely to fail in the testing phase. You have to find a way to get around that, or tone down the functionality.”

Before Tezuka even finishes what sounds like a very well rehearsed speech, Momo is already groaning, both hands pressed to his head as if he wants to tear his hair out.

“Yes, I know, but I’m stuck on _how_. I’ve been stuck for weeks!”

Fuji frowns; that makes sense to him. The reason why new magical products don’t get created overnight – especially for mass consumption. Never mind the approval process; it’s just hard to create something new, period. Especially a hand-drawn array for non-mages, that’d be a tough sell.

“Why not a potion? I’m sure you’ve already discarded the idea, but I’m curious.” Fuji asks from his corner of the room.

Momo sighs.

“I’m not too good with those. The last few attempts were … messy. I also thought an array would give people more flexibility, able to enhance specific areas however much they’d like to by placing it directly.”

“Right. That would be more marketable, but difficult because of how you have to consider all possible areas they’d apply it to. Even if you warned people not to use it on say their face, someone inevitably will. You have to safeguard for that sort of thing too.” Fuji muses out loud.

That steals a chuckle out of Momo.

“Imagine, strength-enhancing face. I’m not too sure how that would even work, and no, I’m not going to test it.” 

Tezuka throws him a look that says pretty much the same.

“Fuji’s right. That’s another consideration. You can work up from a lower tier talisman, but eventually, you’ll have to account for every way this could go wrong for you.”

“You make it sound so easy, professor.” Momo jokes.

“No, it’s incredibly difficult, but I’m here to help make sure what you do end up plotting won’t accidentally explode in your face and kill yourself.” Tezuka answers.

The way Tezuka had said it was both very joke-like and not at all. Fuji didn’t know how to take it, but Momo seemingly took it as assuring, so he supposes that’s a good sign.

The hour passes by quite quickly. They test out new things and Fuji chimes in here and there. They manage half a working prototype that Momo promises to work more on over the week.

“Same time next week? Will Fuji still be here?” He asks, sounding excited at the prospect.

“It depends on our progress.” Fuji cuts in with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to sit in on your lessons regardless, it won’t impede things. I hope I wasn’t a bother.”

Momo’s eyes blow up wide, incredulous.

“Oh no, the pleasure was all mine! Thanks again professor.” He calls out before leaving.

“So, any more surprise students? Should you let me know your schedule ahead of time?” Fuji asks once the door shuts.

Tezuka makes a low tsk sound in agreement.

“You’re right, and yes. I have an hour before Kaidoh gets here. Ryuzaki will be here tomorrow.”

That earns Tezuka a rather confused look his direction, so he clears his throat and clarifies.

“Ryuzaki Sakuno. Her granddaughter.”

Oh. That Fuji wasn’t aware of. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. He scarcely knows Tezuka, despite their intimate mind to mind connection earlier.

“What other students do you have?”

“Not all of them are related to Seigaku’s headmistress, I promise you.” Tezuka answers, and it sounds for a moment as if he’s smiling from his voice, even though nothing has changed in the quality of it, the soulful timber.

Perhaps Fuji was feeling a bit too hopeful, that they could converse without it being strictly business.

“Well, you did manage to get Echizen Ryoma as a student, so that’s almost just as good … or bad, isn’t it?”

“His reputation precedes him. It’s his father that was more deserving of it; Ryoma still has a ways to go.” Tezuka mumbles, not holding anything back clearly.

Fuji nods in affirmation, curious as to what that means.

He’ll find out soon, he’s sure, because Echizen Ryoma’s definitely next on his hit list as an eyewitness.

But first, he has a few more students to observe.


	4. the plan

The rest of the day goes swimmingly.

Kaidoh is a much different kind of student than Momoshiro, quieter but not exactly reserved, a hidden temperament blazing behind dark-lidded eyes. However, just like Momo, it is evident to Fuji that he respects Tezuka deeply, taking each of his suggestions to heart.

Kaidoh’s working on an anamorphic translator, which even for those gifted with the animal-tongue, is incredibly difficult to do. Tezuka suggested starting with conveying general feeling, and then going from there. Kaidoh, seemingly stubborn, had done something rather uncharacteristic (at least based off Fuji’s gut, which was almost never wrong) by arguing back. But then Tezuka mentioned offhandedly how Momoshiro was making good progress and that was that. Kaidoh hissed under his breath but nodded, switching gears to focus more on raw emotion than the underlying magical dictionary.

From where Fuji was observing, Momo’s progress wasn’t all that profound, not enough for a nice shoutout at least. Hence, it appears that Tezuka knew exactly how to play his students too. That impressive poker face of his definitely did not hurt on that front, Fuji jots down as a note.

“No more students for today. Thanks for your patience Fuji. Will you stay for dinner?” Tezuka asks him after Kaidoh leaves.

Fuji blinks in response, glancing outside Tezuka’s windows and is met by sunset, an orangey-yellow glow casting a shadow over the ground of the forest. He hadn’t noticed.

Well, he did arrive shortly after lunch, and after their initial conversation and the two lessons, it brought them right to dinnertime.

But by virtue of his question, it was clear that there is something that Tezuka had evidently missed the memo on.

“Of course I will stay for dinner Tezuka, but you do know that I was going to regardless of if you asked right?”

Tezuka’s expression betrays him, confusion lightly coated over his face before he wipes it off for something slightly more dignified.

“I’m missing something,” he states blandly. 

Fuji pouts; that’s no fun. He wasn’t even going to joke about Fuji imposing himself in his home or anything. Not that Tezuka would refuse him anyway, well-mannered and respectful.

“The client stays with me until the case is solved. It’s beneficial to both of us in terms of speeding things along. Helps with things like not having to chase them down when I need a blood sample or a strand of hair or anything like that.” Fuji explains, watching Tezuka for any adverse reaction. He finds none, so he pushes on.

“Just because your circumstance is a bit special, in that I’m here instead of you being there, does not excuse you from how I usually do things.”

Tezuka nods, slower than usual on the uptake.

“You’re going to stay here until you figure out why my magic is gone.” He says, almost in disbelief.

How awful, because Fuji likes to think his company is incredibly charming and many people would do a whole lot to be in Tezuka’s position right now. Minus the loss of magic part.

“No, I’m here until I help you get your magic _back._ ” Fuji corrects, smiling proudly.

It’s a tad more than he tends to promise from the get-go, but there was something about this case and this man that makes Fuji want to see him at his best, that makes Fuji want to set new precedents, make miracles happen. He’s not sure how he became so convinced of this so fast, but he knows Tezuka’s a good person, with good people on his side. He deserves good things – and Fuji wants to be the one to give that to him, maybe tug that mouth into a smile for once.

Maybe it is the warm blanket of light falling outside, or Fuji’s light magic crashing in while he’s distracted, but he catches a twinkle of amber in Tezuka’s eyes. Despite Tezuka’s rigid demeanor, in this moment, his gaze seems to house a dash of tenderness, grateful and trusting, and Fuji feels his throat tighten at the sight.

“Fuji, thank you.”

The words melt around him, shaped with sincerity and maybe even the slightest tinge of hope. It instantly makes Fuji want to walk his promise back, because even if he’s never failed a client before, he’s all of a sudden far more afraid of doing so now, of doing it to Tezuka.

But instead, Fuji stupidly doubles down on his resolve.

“I hope your guest bedroom is set up, Tezuka. Your place is cozy, but I don’t take well to sharing a bed.” Fuji jokes.

If he were anyone else, he would have smiled at that, at least given him something.

But he was Tezuka, so he only gives Fuji a slow nod, an acknowledgment.

“Let me show you to it while I start dinner.”

Tezuka’s guest room was small and tidy, much like the rest of his little flat. It leaves Fuji with little else to occupy himself with, only some books on the shelf, desk drawers with nothing in them, no wall hangings or decals. It’s incredibly well maintained for a guest room, clean bedsheets and fluffed up pillows, but it also feels incredibly lonely. There’s only one other bedroom, and while Fuji hasn’t heard anything from Tezuka himself on the subject matter, he suspected the man was married to his work rather than anyone else that could possibly share this space with him. Maybe it was casual, because Fuji didn’t spot any soulbond markings on the inside of his wrist, but that too felt a little off, a faint possibility that Fuji doesn’t allot any time to entertaining.

So, with his time, Fuji makes good on the first part of his plan. Luckily, Oishi had time in two days to make the trip for a personal examination. It’s much faster than Fuji would have pegged for, but he wasn’t going to complain about it, instead thanking Oishi for his time.

“No no, I’m happy to help you and especially Tezuka. Any way I can.” Oishi had replied on the other end of the line.

While wondering about the exact nature of Tezuka and Oishi’s relationship, Fuji also put out a few messengers to track down Kirihara. Sumire wasn’t around, but he left her a message to find out Echizen’s whereabouts as well. Unluckily for Fuji, it seems as if the two students he’d most want to talk to had opted to not sign up for Tezuka’s home-stay lessons. Suspended, Tezuka had briefly mentioned earlier, which also meant Seigaku really had no obligation to know exactly where they were until they returned.

The thought doesn’t damper Fuji’s mood though. He was making some progress already, and -

The rest of that thought can wait until after dinner, he decides, when the smell of it lures Fuji downstairs.

Midway down the staircase, Fuji pokes his head around the winding column and the aroma hits him straight on. Tezuka is already setting down two plates at the dining room table, throwing a glance behind his shoulder at Fuji’s entrance. He’s wearing a flowery apron and the sight of it leads Fuji to giggle quietly to himself.

“I was about to call you down.” He murmurs, turning to face Fuji, pushing up his glasses atop of his nose bridge again.

Fuji smiles, skipping down the last few steps to walk over to the table.

“No need, the delicious smell called me first. Curry?”

Tezuka nods stiffly.

“I didn’t get a chance to plan what you might want to eat on short notice, so I hope this is alright.” He says.

“Ah, of course. Who doesn’t like curry?” 

That only results in Tezuka giving him a wry stare, as if the answer was a great deal of people. Oh, but Fuji was definitely not one of them. In fact, Fuji’s been praised – and also gotten quite a few appalled stares - for his diverse food palette. He can stomach a great deal of things, sure, but he also liked the traditional stuff. Good food is good food after all.

“So, I called Oishi over. He’ll be here in two days time, likely after lunch.” Fuji settles in across from Tezuka at the table, updating him.

Tezuka sighs after swallowing his first spoonful of food.

“You have his contact already then, I presume?”

“Of course. Who do you take me for?” Fuji chuckles. “This is really good by the way. Ready made?”

“From scratch. Tastes a bit better to me somehow.” Tezuka answers.

“That’s amazing. I can barely tell the difference,” Fuji says, as much a compliment as any, “but anyway, if you had a student lined up around then, you should reschedule.”

“…I don’t.”

“Okay, and the next step then would be to talk to Kirihara and Echizen. Were there anyone else there when it happened?”

“No, just the two of them.”

“Right. And you said they weren’t hurt from this, not like you were.”

Tezuka purses his lips, setting his spoon down onto his plate.

“No, they were both knocked out too, but woke up quickly with no long-lasting damage. It wasn’t from the actual spell though, by the looks of it, but more from the general blowback, the force of it.”

“But you shielded the area first, which would have also caught some of the impact?”

“Yes, maybe half of the grand hall.”

Fuji nods, imagining the scene as it played out. He remembers the halls of Seigaku and the traffic the grand hall in particular gets, corridors stretched out in all directions from its center. To isolate half of that space and to chase out the students would be no small feat, a testament to the extent of Tezuka’s powers.

It must have been marvelous.

“But it didn’t hold as well as I’d like. Their magic was feeding off one another and I didn’t recognize it at a certain point.” Tezuka continues.

“What affinities are they?” Fuji cuts in.

“Kirihara is darkness and Echizen is light, but for him, it’s more like lightning, harsher, more jagged than the traditional sense.” 

By the sounds of that, those two would indeed tend to clash and feed off each other, both wild and powerful when let loose to their devices. While wind is a powerful and versatile affinity as any, at its core, it is gentle and understanding. In a battle between the three, he’d also bet that Tezuka would fare the worst.

“So, they were fine. It was just you, damaged probably from the whatever magical implosion hit you.” Fuji hypothesizes.

“They were fine, but I … blacked out. I’m glad it was me, but …” Tezuka swallows.

From the tenor of his voice, the slight tremor at the end, it’s clear to Fuji that Tezuka is not the kind of man that relishes in admitting his weakness. No one really is, but it is evident that such an admission is physically painful to him.

“And when you woke?” Fuji brushes past it, not needing to hear the end.

“I felt weak, but I didn’t realize why until later that day during class. It’s been a while since, and well, not much has changed.”

“Did you ever find out what Kirihara and Echizen were up to? What exactly were they throwing around or experimenting with if you didn’t recognize the magic at hand?” Fuji asks.

Tezuka shakes his head.

“Ryuzaki, she did interrogate them, quite a lot I heard,” he stiffens, almost as if he was going to laugh but stopping just short. “They wouldn’t give her a straight answer, either of them. I suppose they were scared, and they were already going to be suspended.”

“That just makes it more important that we find them and get a straight answer. I don’t suppose you know where they are?”

A shake of the head.

“No, but their suspension lifts three weeks from tomorrow. Can you wait?” Tezuka asks, hesitant.

That request dumbfounds Fuji.

“Can you?” He asks back gently, “This is about _you_. It’s okay to be scared of the outcome. But we should still make steps towards reaching a concrete solution. I’ll help you get there. And even if the end result isn’t what you want, we’ll find a way past it.”

_When did they become a we?_

“I know it isn’t very rational of me.” Tezuka admits, his lips a thin line and Fuji stares at it for a second too long, the pale pink colour, a frame of vulnerability.

“Life often isn’t. But I promised you, did I not?” Fuji reiterates.

So much for Tezuka possibly forgetting his earlier outburst, he mentally slaps himself. Guess he’s going all in on this case, not that he wasn’t going to, but now – now he’s truly invested.

Tezuka looks at him as if he wants to smile but just can’t, not when he’s lost in the weeds of loss and recovery, but Fuji takes it, takes his solemn nod and his trembling trust.

“Then let’s get started.”


	5. the change

The next morning, Fuji wakes up to the smell of freshly baked goods. Yawning, he blinks his eyes open, hazy, and flips onto his side to check the watch he left on Tezuka’s nightstand. It blinks back at him innocently, indicating it was only 7:31am.

Now, Fuji wouldn’t call himself a morning person, but he definitely isn’t a night owl either. A wakeup time of around 8:30 is perfectly respectable, thank you very much, but at least for the duration of his stay, it seems that he’ll have to adjust his circadian rhythm a bit for the fact that Tezuka is the type to hit the day running, perhaps before the sun even rises.

It’s really not a surprising fact, given everything else he knows about the man by now.

So, Fuji slides himself out of bed and goes through his normal routine, albeit slower than usual. He washes his face, brushes his teeth, and combs through his hair, untangling the small knots along the way. There’s no real game plan today, not that Fuji really brought any banquet worthy wear anyway, so he makes do by throwing on a simple cream-coloured long sleeve and a pair of dark slacks.

Again, by the time he steps around the bend of the stairs, his heightened senses are pleasantly assaulted by the smell of Tezuka in the kitchen – no, Tezuka’s kitchen, that’s what he meant.

And once again, Tezuka greets him with full plates of food in hand, already stacked full. The timing is impeccable, and Fuji briefly touches his knuckles to his temple in contemplation – what if he wasn’t a morning person? What if he was the type to sleep in until noon? Would Tezuka have just wasted all his efforts for what smells like a delightful meal?

“Good morning, big breakfast person?” He asks.

Tezuka settles down the two plates on the dining room table and shakes his head.

“Not particularly. This is in case you were.”

Fuji blanks out at him for a second, just a little befuddled at the consideration. He stares down at his plate, a medley of fruits, scrambled eggs, hashed browns, sausage, and a chocolate drizzled scone on the side.

“Uhm, no, I’m not actually, but for this I might just become more of a breakfast person.” He replies, a little in awe. “Did you make all of this yourself Tezuka?”

Tezuka gently stabs a piece of fruit with his fork, chewing slowly and swallowing before answering.

“The scone’s a bit old, been in the freezer for a while.”

Fuji picks it up between two fingers and takes a bite.

“So, professor by day, baker by night?” Fuji teases, “this is unexpected, given your reputation.”

“My reputation?” Tezuka raises an eyebrow.

“It’s written all over your face. The stern, serious type. Is baking … therapeutic for you?”

Tezuka frowns, and his frown lines follow.

“If I have the ability to make and do something myself, I should. What’s wrong with that?” He questions.

It clicks for Fuji in that moment, in between taking a bite of egg and zoning out on Tezuka’s knuckles, how much losing that ability must hurt for a man like him. Tezuka, who is fiercely independent to the point that he didn’t want to ask for help on the case, even when he’s seemingly exhausted his options, at least by his own hand. It’s stupidly stubborn, but it’s also noble in many ways, the desire to fight one’s own battles. There’s no fear of perception in Tezuka’s words, as long as if he’s satisfied with his own outcomes, whether that be living in a far too small place for someone of his stature or baking in a frilly apron.

Fuji thinks he just might want to see the latter.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Fuji smiles and pauses. “Do you have any hot sauce by the way?”

The other man drops his fork to his plate and stands up to walk towards the cupboards.

“How hot would you like it?”

Fuji shrugs.

“Give me your worst. I was told I apparently have demonic tastebuds.”

Tezuka sniffs before pulling out a bottle, a sick orange-ish colour, and hands it to him with an expression that looks to say _bring it on._

The hot sauce was, of course, delicious, albeit not homemade this time. Ryuzaki Sakuno isn’t scheduled to arrive until late afternoon, so in between breakfast and then, Fuji didn’t have much of a plan other than to get to know Tezuka better, perhaps get to test out some of his hypotheses.

See, a lot of magical blockages in his experience is a mix of physical and mental pain. The last similar case he helped to treat was Yukimura Seiichi, who had an illness that slowly paralyzed parts of his body. It was also the result of a magical injury which needed time to heal, time that Yukimura, the ever-patient man, had given. Years of it in fact. It wasn’t until Sanada Genichirou, his boyfriend, had sought out Fuji’s assistance begrudgingly that Yukimura had finally accepted outside help.

A bit of a parallel there, Fuji notes.

The physical side of Yukimura’s injury did take time, but not two years of it. In the end, it had actually come down to the mental side of things, how Yukimura had overused his magical reserves to the point of nerve damage. While healers worked a small miracle to get that back to an acceptable state, Yukimura himself had feared going so far again. His magic laid dormant as a result, because Yukimura had willed it, wanted to hold his magic back so he couldn’t hurt himself again by overdoing it. It took a shouting match when Fuji called him out on it - and a subsequent impromptu duel for Yukimura to hit him back with a water whip, and that was that. A few calls and a guidebook on meditation later, case closed.

Sanada had thanked him with a sigh, divulging how he had suspected it wasn’t a physical issue anymore, but he hadn’t the heart to push the issue. That’s why Fuji was there of course. He didn’t have personal connections with his clients, so he could do things their friends could not, call them out when they deserved it, slap some sense into them, metaphorically and physically if need be.

“Who is your closest friend?” Fuji asks, folding his arms at the now cleared up breakfast table.

Tezuka freezes, eyes downcast in his lap.

“Why do you ask?”

Defensive, though Fuji isn’t terribly surprised. He’s fairly good at reading people, and Tezuka had been a bit further out of the normal range of human emotion, but other than that he was fairly textbook. Keeps to himself, intellectual, prideful.

“Magical blockage cases, like everything else, are usually a result of a physical or a mental source. If Oishi clears the physical side, then it can only be mental.”

“I don’t see the correlation here, Fuji.” Tezuka says slowly, even if his face betrays him slightly.

“It helps, to know how your friends see you, how you think. It may help diagnose the mental barrier if that is the cause here.”

“No one knows me better than myself. You can ask me what you’d like.” Tezuka reaffirms, his voice a bit harder this time.

That response is also around the lines of what Fuji expects from him, but he’s uncovered a great many mysteries from asking the hard questions with expectant answers, only to be surprised.

“Family then? Co-workers?”

Tezuka shrugs. “Do not take offence, but I find it hard to believe I’d willingly block my own magic from returning. Anyone that knows me will tell you the same.”

He can’t divulge the details of his other clients’ cases with their names attached to it, and most of the time, Fuji even dislikes doing so with disguised details and anonymous faces. It oftentimes gives a false sense of security, something to hold onto despite each case being unique and not replicable.

But in this case, Fuji makes an exception for Tezuka.

(Again.)

He retells Yukimura’s case with some made-up points to conceal his identity, watches Tezuka’s expression carefully as the story unfolds. Apart from a wrinkle in his nose and a deepening furrow in his eyebrows, Tezuka doesn’t let up, doesn’t show a moment of being convinced, of something making a difference.

Yet then he nods at the end of the story, a bronze metallic shine in his irises appears.

“I see where you’re coming from, and my apologies for trying to tell you how to do your job. Do you think … this is what is happening to me?” He asks quietly, his gaze hidden.

Fuji is slightly taken back at the turnaround in his mood, the shift in admission, the folding down of his pride.

“Maybe. I’ve only known you a day Tezuka, so it doesn’t feel like my assessment is the most well rounded. I don’t want to be remiss of the possibility. Magical suppression is a murky field, one that I don’t pretend to be an expert on, but if that is the case, we can isolate it and find you the people you need to push past it.”

Fuji pauses for a moment, his next sentence caught in his throat. Tezuka was looking right at him, locked onto his every word, the way most of his clients did.

But something about this was different. Fuji was used to clients banking all their hopes on him, on him giving them the miracle magical solution to all their woes. But in reality, all he really does is whittle down possibilities until there was only one plausible outcome remaining, tenaciously and without knowing when to give up.

No, Tezuka doesn’t look at him like he’s looking for a miracle. He stares at Fuji as if they’re in the case together, navigating the roadmap of Fuji’s mind like –

Like the way their affinities had, when their minds connected and he felt Tezuka’s magical pulse, the way he reasoned and how his logic flowed, steady and sure.

“That’s why uhm,” Fuji continues, gathering himself together again after realizing Tezuka was still waiting on the edge of his words, “why I called Oishi over. And why we’re going to get Echizen and Kirihara to spill all that they know. We’re going to exhaust all our clues, and it’s going to narrow the field, bring us closer, because this was the cause of an accident, one we can analyze and drill down on. It wasn’t something that happened one day suddenly with no root cause. Those are much harder to trace. Look up, will you?”

It isn’t until he said the last sentence that Fuji feels a shiver run up his spine from the shock of it, how he had somehow moved to comfort Tezuka without needing to, promising a rosier outlook than intended. Because it is a better case than one where if Tezuka’s magic had disappeared overnight, but it was certainly not simple and it wasn’t guaranteed.

But here Fuji was, making it sound like it was both.

“I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.” Tezuka replies curtly. “I’ll take your lead. I haven’t seen my family for a long time, but if you’d like to talk to a friend, you can speak to Oishi when he gets here.”

“Oh. You’re close with him? That explains a few things …” Fuji perks up a little. Oishi Shuichiro’s opinion is known to be quite solid, objective. He could work with that.

“Maybe not by normal standards, but I trust him a great deal and I’ve known him a long time.” Tezuka says.

“I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow.” Fuji smiles.

They’re getting somewhere.

Ryuzaki Sakuno is not much like her grandmother, timid and still growing in all senses of the word. She doesn’t have the innate power or talent that Fuji knows the rest of Tezuka’s students have, the drive that he’s seen in Kaidoh and Momo. Her magic is there but flimsy, a flicker of a drop here and a rushing wave there, the way water infinities tend to be. It’s clear that she is still struggling with the basic elements of it, far from being able to craft anything of her own. However, she is sincere, and she certainly tries hard, despite her predisposition for clumsiness.

Fuji doesn’t have to ask to know that Tezuka would not have normally taken her on as a student if not for her blood, but the fact that Sakuno is at least a sweet child through and through makes the job easier when Tezuka gives the same advice four times in a row in essentially the same way.

Sakuno’s fingers tremble restlessly for six seconds this time before they give way, a twisted stream of water falling onto Tezuka’s table with a whimpering splash.

“I’m sorry, professor.” She hangs her head in apology for the fifth time.

“It takes time. We can take another shot at it next week.” Tezuka says patiently.

Sakuno nods, small and imperceptible. It’s been rough, and she’s sure to be down on herself. It’s not an emotion that Fuji can relate to really, but if she wants to get any further, she might need a bit more … warmth than Tezuka tends to give.

“It’s okay. Water is a difficult one, and you’re very young. Have faith in yourself, water tends to have mood swings.” Fuji smiles, walking right up to the girl who lets out a little squeak at the close contact when his hand lands on her shoulder.

“Oh – I’m so sorry, you don’t have to help me with my minor problems uhm.” Sakuno gasps out, noticeably out of her element with him around.

Fuji fights his urge to chuckle at the girl’s flustered reaction, eyes half-dazed and cheeks dusted a rosy pink. He knows it’s only been a day and a half with Tezuka, but it’s made him forget his reputation again.

“No no, it’s no trouble, just some friendly advice from one water user to another,” Fuji grins. “After you get past the initial hump, you’ll never have to tame it again. That’s encouraging, isn’t it?”

Sakuno nods her head up and down furiously.

“I just – I know this, professor Tezuka has been so kind and understanding of it but I’m – I’m really sorry, I know I’m just slow at this. I just, I wish I was better, like Ryoma is. I want to get better faster.” She says in a rush, her braids falling in front of her shoulder. She ends up bowing her head in apology, even though she has nothing to apologize for.

_Ryoma?_

He steals a glance at Tezuka’s direction, who looks as if he’s heard it all before, but he steps in anyway, seemingly able to read Fuji’s mind without using any hint of magic.

“Echizen is a very talented prodigy, you know it isn’t very fair to yourself to compare to him. Everyone has their own milestones, and he’s been at this a lot longer than you have. It’s okay.”

Sakuno raises her head as if she’s hearing breaking news for the first time, which turns a few cogs in Fuji’s head. It’s nothing that should come as a surprise. Echizen Ryoma’s definitely been brought up as a magic user since birth, given who his father was and all, and Sakuno, by the sounds of it, has not despite the family connection there. It makes logical sense, that the longer one practices their craft, the more likely they are to be masters at it.

Fuji takes in the seriousness of Tezuka’s face, the crinkle of his lip, the frown baked into his brows, and realizes he isn’t really the type to give realistic encouragement to his students often. What was it that got to her – the ‘ _it’s okay’_ probably, the soft manner in which he said it? Sakuno, as sweet as she is, is at her core delicate, a cascade of highs and lows at the whim of others, when in fact she needs to become more assured in herself.

That’s the way to really own up to your magic anyway, but it takes time to get there.

“I – thank you. I know, I don’t mean to get down on myself all the time. Thank you for your time professor, you as well Fuji, I will definitely keep your advice in mind for next week’s session.”

“I look forward to your progress.” Tezuka answers, voice steady, sounding like it’s a sure thing that she will have made progress. That inevitably gets her to flush too, smiling despite herself.

There are no more students that day. Instead, the two of them try to test the limits of Tezuka’s power again in between conversations, and Fuji notes down every frustrated instance that comes across Tezuka’s well-kept poker face. There aren’t many, and he doesn’t even make the kind of sounds that Fuji thinks most people would – (not that he’s thinking of Tezuka’s voice in a less monotone way) – but he takes what he can get, the secure knowledge that this is bothering Tezuka more than he lets on, that solving this matters, despite what Tezuka may attempt to prove otherwise.

Fuji summons a small whirlwind of a tornado in his palm and slowly builds it up until he’s pretty sure if he went further it’d cause some irreparable damage to Tezuka’s house. As he sweeps his hand away in a swish, the loops of wind dissipating, Tezuka continues to stare at him, wordless.

“So, you must have been quite the powerful mage.” Fuji says.

“Seigaku has standards everyone must meet.” Tezuka answers in way of explanation.

“In your prime,” Fuji jokes, “that tornado is what, 25% of your power? Less?”

“…it’s hard to gauge now that I can’t demonstrate, but your estimate sounds accurate to me.”

Fuji feels something in his heart glow at the words, kind, but professional – he reminds himself. He’s received glowing compliments in the past, enough of them that he’s gotten sick of them, how fake they all sound. Maybe he’s just been craving affirmation in a more, matter-of-fact way all along.

“Hmm. That is a drastic drop.”

“I know. It, you said earlier that water is wild but obedient once tamed. Wind is very similar. It wouldn’t be malfunctioning like this without a good reason.” Tezuka says.

Fuji is in full agreement of that. Wind magic is not the type to turn its back on its master without a good reason after years of good working order. He barely has to maintain it himself to summon it back up, after having tamed it into his good graces when he was younger, the way he has to with darkness, or sometimes earth.

They run through several related powers, all to no avail. Anything that required a physical summoning from Tezuka himself proves to be a moot point, whether it be a light breeze or a physical levitation of another object. They try joining their minds again to the same result, though neither are terribly disappointed at it. The status quo, albeit not as good as the problem simply disappearing overnight, is at least better than things getting worse. 

“Anything else I can help you with on this matter before Oishi’s arrival tomorrow, Fuji?”

Fuji shakes his head. It’s getting dark out, so he gets why Tezuka’s deciding now to ask. They’ve gone through quite a bit today, and despite Fuji asking Tezuka to do the same thing multiple times, often in very similar if not exactly the same manner, Tezuka had obeyed without complaint. A man of discipline, Fuji is now fully convinced of, and tucks away in his head as a future example case for the next brat he has to help out.

“No, but thank you for your cooperation. It helped a lot.”

Tezuka nods in agreement. But instead of bowing to leave, he tilts his head towards Fuji in a question.

“If I may ask, what made you want to do this line of work? What makes you come so highly recommended?”

That question is one Fuji gets asked quite often, but not from his actual clients. More so from ministries or the press who are eager to unveil his backstory for their own purposes; clients just want to know he _can_ do it, not so _why._

“I ask, because each case is different, and I’m wondering about the skillset required. Problem solving, of course, patience, tact, but I’m sure there is more to it.”

Fuji smiles at him, letting his eyes disappear into an easy relaxed state.

“Are you thinking of changing career paths?” He teases.

“No, I love what I do, and I’d like to do it with all the power that I have been blessed with. But sometimes my students come to me for career advice, and I just thought some of them may be suited for something more unconventional.” Tezuka explains.

“I get it. It’s sweet of you, to look out for your students. And you’re right, all you need is a tenacious desire to not quit on your clients, to chase every avenue until you reach an answer that you’re wholly satisfied with. It helps that I know magic foundations inside and out and have lived it too. I built my reputation from the ground up and it was hard at first, and I can say a lot about that process, but to be honest, I just really hated the idea of working for someone else.” Fuji says wistfully, chuckling at the end.

“Free-spirited.” Tezuka comments.

“That – and I don’t like taking orders from people who don’t matter.” Fuji grins.

“I see. That’s very helpful.” Tezuka nods, and even if it’s faint, barely there, Fuji tastes the gratitude in those words. They rest along the lines of his brown eyes, genuine and true.

“I’m glad.”

Silence passes between the two of them by the table, neither seemingly willing to be the first one to get up. Fuji is just about to call it quits himself if Tezuka’s all too content to just stare at him. Not that he had a problem with it, but he’s the guest here so it would have been rather rude to keep that going. That’s when Tezuka scoots back and stands up, lips a straight line, apologetic.

“Well, it’s getting late. Thank you again for all the trouble today. Good night Fuji, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No trouble at all, you seem to forget that this is my job.”

Still no reaction, but maybe he can imagine Tezuka relaxing at those words. Fuji takes it in anyway.

“I’ll see you for breakfast? Maybe I can help you out tomorrow?”

Tezuka freezes for a second before he tucks in his chair, cuts the corner to go upstairs. Fuji wasn’t going to walk it back, but he didn’t actually expect the answer Tezuka eventually gives him, thinking he’d rather keep his routine the same, keep to himself.

But Tezuka replies: “I’d like that”, and it sounds just like a smile.


	6. the examination

The next morning, Fuji makes a valiant effort to wake up earlier than he normally would so as to make good on his promise. Yet by the time he’s ready and makes his way down the stairs, the kitchen is already swarming with the scent of ready-made food, this time a cheesy aroma.

“I thought we said I could help.” Fuji pouts. He steps towards the stovetop to take a look at Tezuka’s handywork, leans over his shoulder.

“I did. I didn’t say what time we would be starting.”

_Huh, unexpectedly cheeky._

“You’re making it sound as if I was tardy on purpose.” Fuji retorts in jest.

“It didn’t seem fitting to need two people to make something so simple.” Tezuka replies, sliding something off his spatula and pan and plopping it onto a plate.

Once he sees that something however, Fuji’s inclined to agree. He can’t help it, a giggle bubbling from his throat, hiccupping out quietly at first, and then expanding into an avalanche of unstoppable laughter.

It was a grilled cheese sandwich. Toasted pretty much perfect, golden brown and a string of melted cheddar sliding off the sides, but all in all, it was still essentially a meal made for a child who wouldn’t eat their vegetables.

Tezuka raises an eyebrow at the laughter, but instead of questioning it, he moves towards the fridge, plate in hand.

“Ketchup?”

“Uh,” Fuji thinks for a moment. Does he eat grilled cheese with ketchup? Is that a normal thing to do? “Some more of that hot sauce from yesterday would be nice, actually.”

Not to say his own food tastes were normal by any means, but that hot sauce _was_ good.

They eat their grilled cheeses in between idle chit chat, and Fuji can’t resist but ask Tezuka about his food choice in the first place.

“It surprised you, didn’t it.” Tezuka murmurs.

“After all your well-balanced meals, it did,” Fuji affirms, grinning. “It’s fine to have some child in you too. I love grilled cheeses.”

And your cooking is sublime despite it being so simple, he resists tacking on.

“Well, Oishi is coming today. I wanted to be prepared.” Tezuka answers, his expression wry, almost secretive.

Oh.

Fuji gets it now.

This time, he doesn’t bother holding his laughter in, tossing his head back in an attempt to catch his breath.

Tezuka doesn’t interrupt his second laughing fit. In fact, by the time Fuji looks back up, Tezuka’s only staring at him, contemplative and still. He tucks a strand of chestnut brown hair behind his ear, the leg of his glasses. Then, he tilts his head ever so slightly, a signal for Fuji to take the floor with his giant revelation.

“What you’re saying is … in case Oishi says you need to what, go on a strict diet or something, you wanted to indulge yourself one last time?” Fuji snickers.

His face hurts from the dumb grin on his face, but at least Tezuka looks somewhat amused at the situation despite not smiling, his arms folded after finishing the last of his sandwich.

“Something like that.”

Yes, Tezuka Kunimitsu is disciplined. He holds a mighty command over his students, and his magic probably too when it was still in his possession. Nevertheless, he too is human, with the strangest of human flaws and desires. Even if Fuji couldn’t read him as easily as he could others, he thinks he’s finally getting a handle of it, the art of reading Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Oishi arrives shortly after lunch, also a self-indulgent meal. This time, Tezuka lets Fuji help with the preparation of it: a creamy carbonara with a side of garlic bread (maybe Tezuka has a thing for cheese) and a slice of cake to boot. Tezuka sneaks in a few mushrooms into the pasta, saying how they do need some vegetables – and Fuji adds a handful more, mentioning how it _is_ the sole vegetable of the day after all. The pasta ends up being more mushroom than bacon, but it doesn’t detract from the handmade taste, carefully crafted.

Fuji’s always considered himself a good cook. In fact, there weren’t many things that Fuji was particularly bad at, even by other people’s standards. He can find his way around a kitchen, but he learns that he isn’t as practiced as Tezuka in a lot of areas, despite Fuji’s job requiring less travel. Tezuka guides him through how to cut more efficiently, and Fuji masters it quickly. It doesn’t take him long to feel comfortable with the motion, adding a little wind power to each slice, crisp and even. He catches Tezuka peering at his handiwork a little fondly, as if that’s something he used to do too – but Fuji doesn’t ask, knowing when to leave a sore wound alone to heal.

The chimes polite ring twice when Oishi arrives, and this time the magical signature is familiar to him. When Tezuka opens the door, Oishi smiles at him warmly before embracing the other man, much to Fuji’s surprise.

“Tezuka, it’s been a while. Fuji, even longer.” Oishi greets the two of them, dropping his leather suitcase to the ground.

“I wish it was under better circumstances,” Fuji replies, returning Oishi’s smile, “but I’m happy you could make the time.”

“Of course, how could I not?” Oishi says, sounding a little bit incredulous.

“Tezuka says you two also know each other quite well?”

Oishi throws a small look Tezuka’s way, a weary chuckle under his breath.

“Did he now? That’s surprising.”

Tezuka could only sniff as a response.

“He insisted.”

“On?” Oishi retorts, amused.

“He wanted to interrogate one of my friends.” Tezuka says, face ostensibly devoid of emotion. Fuji’s not sure why, but there is a difference between this look and Tezuka’s usual blank stares, a flicker of intimacy behind it.

“And you picked me? I’m touched, Tezuka.” Oishi grins.

“You were coming here anyway, it was convenient.” Tezuka answers, his voice a thin edge lighter.

“Ah, what every friend likes to hear.” Oishi says in jest, but his face quickly turns serious. “Feel free to ask as you’d like Fuji. I do have to say though that since this is a rush appointment, I have to be out by tomorrow morning. So, if you don’t mind, let’s be quick and thorough here, shall we?”

Fuji nods rigorously; he’s always liked working with Oishi for a reason.

They set up in Tezuka’s bedroom. For a simple, private person, Tezuka didn’t seem to care that the two of them were invading his space. He didn’t even ask them to wait outside while he tidied up a bit first. Then again, knowing Tezuka, he probably did it already, or keeps it neat daily in anticipation of something like this.

Knowing Tezuka…he does know him now, right? Or was that a weird thought to express?

“You want to see too right? I remember this last time.” Oishi murmurs, interrupting Fuji’s train of thought. He lifts his suitcase handle straight up, hitting a few buttons that light up under his touch, each chamber expanding out from its previously suppressed form with a series of pops.

“You have a terrific memory as always, Oishi. Yes, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all. Tezuka, if you don’t mind taking off your shirt?”

Those words hit Fuji with a wave of heat, embarrassment perhaps. A person’s magical nodes reside all around their body, but this is standard practice. He’s been through this a couple of times with Oishi previously, and other healers of course too. He shouldn’t feel flustered at the easygoing way Tezuka grips onto his collar to unbutton his black button-down, shouldn’t be staring at how those knuckles flex and dip with each dexterous motion.

Fuji slaps himself out of it forcefully, whipping his head so he was now blanking out at an abstract painting hanging behind Tezuka instead. It seems to do the trick, grounding him properly until he hears Tezuka shuffle on the bed, lying down with his shirt now tossed aside, showcasing broad shoulders and a bare chest.

He could only swallow as he scoots over next to Oishi and sits down next to Tezuka’s bedside. Tezuka’s eyes are glazed over, looking at the ceiling expectantly, his chest rising up and down with each breath, a gentle ripple of defined muscle each time and –

Okay, Fuji’s definitely staring. It doesn’t have to be a weird, awkward thing, right? Maybe he was looking for remnants of a curse, or a magic rebound gone wrong, something that would indicate that …

Fuji’s eyes freeze midway down Tezuka’s abdomen, zoned in on a slightly off center but obvious mark. It’s a dark cross, a reddish-purple hue like an old bruise, the remains of a magical scar.

“What is that?” He points to it, leaning over Tezuka’s upper body, casting a shadow above him.

“It’s a childhood injury.” Tezuka answers, steady without pause. Rehearsed.

“It’s from magic. What was it?”

Every magical scar is unique to the circumstances that bore it, that breathed life into it. He wanted to watch the examination for precisely this reason, because a full-body blockage is unlikely to be stemming from just one curse mark.

But it wasn’t impossible. It could have been this all along.

“I don’t remember. It was when I was young. It isn’t the issue here though, Oishi can tell you.”

The way Tezuka read him as easily as he read Tezuka back, it thrills and irritates Fuji all at once. But then Oishi’s hand lands on his shoulder and utters the words Fuji wishes he didn’t.

“He’s right. When he was looked at before, they tried to dig into it too. It’s hard to see why, but it’s a minor scar, and a very old one, not one that is likely blocking any physical magic from manifesting.” Oishi confirms. “I’m going to start on the examination now though, and you can see for yourself. I’ll take an extra look at that, if it helps set you both at ease.”

Oishi’s always been diplomatic and damn good at his job, alternating between forceful and placating depending on the patient at hand. Fuji respects him for that, and so with heavily placed trust, he backs away. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away from Tezuka, who hasn’t stopped looking at him the whole time. His brown eyes were laser focused on Fuji, sharp even though his glasses were placed off to the side. Their eye contact finally drops when Oishi places both his hands on his abdomen.

“Close your eyes. It’ll help.” Oishi commands.

Tezuka obeys silently.

It’s always a treat to watch Oishi at work, the way his magic is gentle, bathed in light. It’s one of the more common affinities for a healer to take on, but for Oishi especially, it’s extremely well-suited. His hands glow as he traverses around Tezuka’s chest, leaving a trail of black splotches that fade soon after his touch leaves the area.

Fuji nods to himself in observation absentmindedly. Each black mark means a blockage, that much is textbook, but usually it comes accompanied with more – red for a curse based in emotion, usually one due to love or hatred towards the afflicted, green for one caused by physical magical harm, yellow for underdeveloped magic nodes, usually found in children, blue for a cause found within the user, usually requiring a magical detox.

When Yukimura went through this, his had flared blue slowly only after a few iterations, so Fuji isn’t terribly surprised that Tezuka’s isn’t turning up with anything concrete. Oishi makes his rounds and Fuji watches intently, waiting for something other than black to appear and mark Tezuka’s tanned skin, the line of his abs.

Then Oishi stops and hovers over the scar Fuji pointed out, letting out a long sigh.

“Fuji, it’s too old for me to diagnose. There’s some residual negative energy there, but it’s so small that I doubt it’s the source of your problem. If you knew the source, maybe it’d help, but I don’t know. It’s not even above a major node.”

The light flares around the scar in question, but nothing appears on Tezuka’s skin.

Even so, something tickles at the back of his head, an itch, a good – or bad feeling. Oishi hadn’t said he was sure it wasn’t the problem, and Fuji isn’t one to let something go unless it was utterly impossible.

“Can you…try another technique?” Fuji asks quietly.

Oishi removes his hands from Tezuka’s skin abruptly, eyes darkened as he rises to his feet.

“Fuji, are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

The change in Oishi’s tone is obvious, and Tezuka blinks his eyes open at the sudden shift, still hazy but concerned.

“What is it?”

“I think Fuji is proposing I use an older, more exploratory technique on you. On the older scar, to get at the root cause.”

Tezuka’s frown deepens, and Fuji can almost see his mind working in overtime to finish the words Oishi isn’t saying.

“You didn’t do this last time because … what’s the catch?”

Oishi exhales sharply.

“It’s because it may stir up some repressed memories in the wake of it. Some magical scars remain dormant and are hard to diagnose because the user made their peace with its underlying cause long ago.” Fuji cuts in, somehow wanting to defend his decision.

“He means, to bring it to the surface can do more harm than good. Especially since I’m not sure this has anything to do with your current state. You’ve had this ever for as long as I know you after all.” Oishi adds on, biting his lip nervously. “I don’t want to hurt you… but this is your decision.”

Tezuka’s eyes flicker between the two of them, back and forth. Maybe half a minute or so passes before he finally settles on Fuji.

“You think it’s a good idea.”

It isn’t a question, but he’s looking for an answer from Fuji anyway. 

Fuji could answer a million things, go on about the pros and cons, of the things he’s read about when the technique goes wrong, how he trusts Oishi to do this more than anyone. He could say how his original healing team should have at least floated the idea, or how he doesn’t know anything about Tezuka’s childhood, but the scar spells bad news especially if he can’t remember what created it, how Tezuka would likely regret it if they came up empty handed and had to call Oishi back again because of all things Fuji Shuusuke was, he was not a quitter.

Instead, he answers _I do,_ and that is enough.

Oishi throws a faint smile their direction and sinks back into his chair.

“This may hurt, mainly at the scar site, and you may feel or experiment some repressed memories. If it gets too bad, please say so and we can stop at any time.”

“How do I know if it’s working?”

Oishi gives a little pathetic shrug.

“I’ve only done this a handful of times. Usually the same colour markers come up when I get in deep enough, but one time it didn’t, though the memories came back. It … it hurt the client a lot though, and I, well, I have my reservations on using this, but this is for you, Tezuka.”

Tezuka closes his eyes in response.

“Okay. Do it.”

The energy Oishi imparts this time isn’t a ray of light, a halo of warmth filtering in through the window over Tezuka’s body. No, this time, a ring of purplish black flares out instead, flipping between shades as it draws smaller and smaller before it covers the area of the scar exactly.

Oishi presses his hands slowly together, the colours and magic trying to escape between his palms. But he holds steady, keeping it right above the site and then slams it down in one quick motion.

Tezuka hisses out loud, a sharp groan, his face clearly scrunched up in pain. Fuji’s heart lurches – and he’s not sure if it’s at the sight of Tezuka feeling something that could help him, help the case - or because he wants it to stop hurting Tezuka in the first place.

But this was a necessary move, right?

He had a gut feeling about it. A bad one, for what it’s worth, magical scars are never really a good thing, but for the purposes of this…

Temporary pain can always be washed out by a permanent solution.

Another low moan takes Fuji out of it, and his eyes dash towards Tezuka’s face, how deep the scowl of his eyebrows goes, the waves of his frown lines. It looks as if he resists a little, staying still as can be, before he tosses his head to one side, then the other.

“Anything?” Fuji whispers.

“It’s taking time. Judging by his reactions, it’s working… but I don’t know at what expense.” Oishi says back, worry doused all over his voice.

“Do you think it was … I meant to ask you this before, but given who he is, do you think this is mental, not physical?”

Oishi stiffens for a second, before he presses down a bit harder than usual, eliciting a gasp out of Tezuka above him. That reaction makes Oishi frown deeper, unhappy with himself, and Fuji wants to apologize for it, his question’s poor timing.

“Depends on this, but yeah. Tezuka would fit that mold. He’s the type to push himself to his limits, against better advice.”

Just as he suspects, nothing new there, but the surety Oishi brings is helpful, a checkmark off his list.

“I see it.” Oishi mutters.

“Let me see.”

Oishi parts his hands ever so slightly, and right above the dark bruise-like colour is a flicker of colour, a deep royal blue.

Blue, an internal cause, a deep, hidden away one.

“Does that help?”

It does and it doesn’t. Oishi’s right in that nothing’s flared up recently, so this can’t have been the sole cause of the issue, but if it’s internal, there could be more at play here, some interaction or another, if –

“Yeah, that’s enough. Thank you, Oishi.”

At that command, Oishi releases his hands from Tezuka’s stomach and slumps over in his chair, visibly exhausted. Fuji steps in and hovers over Tezuka, framing the other man’s body with his own.

“Tezuka,” Fuji murmurs, “are you back with us?”

Tezuka’s eyes fly open, blazing and wide, wider than Fuji’s ever seen them.

“I - , is it, y-yes. Yes, I am.”

His voice had wavered so much just then, a tsunami of emotion by Tezuka’s standards. He had sounded distraught, a little lost for all of ten seconds - before settling into his usual muted rhythm.

Fuji breaks out in a smile of relief.

“Good, and did you see anything?”

Tezuka nods weakly. It isn’t as if he’s the type of person to offer it up, but Fuji is the type to ask.

“What did you see? Do you know what caused that scar?”

His expression dims and a visible shiver runs down his body, down his neck, the curve of his shoulder.

“I – ’m not sure.”

And no, he doesn’t sound sure, but Fuji’s instantly suspicious. Fuji might even be willing to stake his career on it, that Tezuka’s a poor liar, that he saw something he’s afraid to divulge. But he had just gone through what was a pretty up-in-the-air medical procedure, and Fuji doesn’t necessarily need the information right now, so he doesn’t push the issue.

At least for now.

As for everything else, Tezuka checks out okay, and can drag himself up no problem. It takes them until dinnertime, and given everything, Fuji is the one who insists on stationing himself at the kitchen. He whips up something simple from the fridge, grilled chicken and some salad, and smiles to himself thinking of the junk they ate the rest of the day, how Oishi too, looks slightly disappointed at the healthy ready-made meal.

“Thanks for coming again on short notice, and for trying my suggestion. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” Fuji whispers as they see Oishi out the door.

Oishi shakes his head, smiling fondly.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just glad there were no adverse effects, and I really hope you two can get to the root of this. I’m around, if you need, but it might take me a couple of days next time.”

“Appreciative as always. And give my best to Eiji, will you?” Fuji says.

That brings out a glowing smile from Oishi, genuine and a little lovesick, rubbing the inside of his wrist like a reflex, the mark there.

“Of course.”

“You know Kikumaru?” Is the first thing that comes out of Tezuka’s mouth when the door shuts behind them. Fuji chuckles at the reaction regardless, the earnestness of it.

“Is that really so surprising? We seem to run in the same circles after all.”

“It’s not, I just know Oishi’s rather private about his personal life.”

“That’s fair,” Fuji grins, “but Eiji on the hand, definitely isn’t.”


	7. the detour

The next couple of days are slow going for several reasons. It’s not as if Fuji expects the case to be open and shut in a matter of days anyway. That wouldn’t be any fun, nor would it be right, if it was so easy. He has some things to work with, however, the key to this has always been the incident itself – specifically, its perpetrators. Being suspended, Kirihara and Echizen wouldn’t be found anywhere near Seigaku, nor would they be allowed to attend any of Tezuka’s private classes. Tezuka had no idea where they could possibly be, and when Fuji reached out to Sumire for some leads, she wasn’t much helpful either, sounding rather pleased that they weren’t around to cause trouble for the next little while.

Despite the advances in magic and technology over the years, tracking down a person, even a mage, is harder than it sounds, especially if they don’t want to be found. Fuji starts off with the basics: the good old-fashioned telephone doesn’t get him anywhere, leading him to an automated voice mail with Echizen’s name filled in with a yawn and a snarky ‘leave a message if you care’ from Kirihara. He leaves several, calling at all times of the day, just in the off chance that they simply happened to cross calls. He was nothing if not thorough. When Tezuka asks him if the radio silence bothered him, Fuji simply gave him a crooked smile and replied not really. After all, one avenue shut and crossed off the list just meant he was closer to eliminating everything except the truth.

He crosses off a few more easy ones over the next few days in between Tezuka’s classes and taking breathers in the woods. Tezuka accompanies him most days, and they breathe in the sound of the enchanted forest together. It has the air that Fuji adores, a glimmer of whimsy and a surge of power. It reminds him of Seigaku, and more so of his home – not quite the same attraction, but one all the same.

Neither of them was home, at least not at their home address. Funny, because if Fuji got suspended, his parents would been first shocked speechless and then demanded he come home to explain himself. But Echizen Nanjiroh hadn’t even entertained his full sentence before making up an excuse to hang up and the Kiriharas just sounded a little resigned at their son’s latest escapade. None of the major hotels have gotten a sign-in from either of their names in recent weeks, even after Fuji tried to sweeten the deal.

Fuji didn’t really bank on those methods anyway, but the rest require a bit more time and creativity. There were a few simple things that were out of his means. He can’t exactly teleport to where they are, nor pull them his way without knowing the approximate proximity in which they resided, a giant blank. He could trace their magical signatures with Tezuka’s help (or in Tezuka’s magical absence, anyone else who knew the two of them), but it’d require quite a bit of work to narrow down the space, and since the start of the incident and their suspensions, so much time had passed that the two of them could be quite literally anywhere.

Direct methods, in the interest of time, didn’t seem to be helpful.

Hence, their second plan of action – harassing everyone they knew for clues.

After calling in a favour from Sumire, he gets 5 minutes with Echizen Nanjiroh. The man is surprisingly aloof as to his son’s whereabouts, mumbling about how letting him figure shit out for himself at school means not running home with his magic wrung dry. His brother supposedly hasn’t heard a peep from him in months, which by Tezuka’s testimony and sigh, sounds right on character.

“Apart from family, who were his closest friends who might know? Or maybe a significant other? If by any chance it was serious – ” Fuji asks. He tries to hold his voice steady, because he already had a feeling of the odds.

Tezuka, understandably snorts quietly under his breath.

“He doesn’t have a soulbond mark, if that’s where you were going with it. As for his friends, he has many, but he isn’t really the type to divulge his plans before charging ahead with it.”

Echizen Nanjiroh was always known as a free spirit, a wandering soul with wild, untamed magic that captivated every person he’s ever shown it to. He managed to excavate many buried artifacts in lost nations without requiring any outside help, a feat that no association was confident in replicating even to this day. It didn’t mean they didn’t accept his offerings though, smug and gleeful, before he went on his merry way without another word, disappearing oftentimes for months or years before surfacing again with some other grand discovery.

It’s rather fitting that Echizen Ryoma doesn’t fall far from the tree, doing as he pleases without giving anyone a heads up and vanishing into thin air.

The only sure-fire way to counteract that would have been the soulbond mark, something two mages could impart on each other if they both desired and consented to it. It was essentially a small tattoo inked in the other’s magical signature carved on the inside of one’s wrist, and it serves as the most serious form of magical linkage. In the olden days, it used to the staple of magical marriage ceremonies. But romance isn’t necessarily the only reason anymore; Fuji’s seen it between family members as well, as many as up to six, though the effectiveness significantly diminished around four by empirical studies.

Because not only was it a permanent commitment between mages, it came with extra perks too. When together, a soulbond could amplify normal magical tools like the distance of a teleportation array or result in extra affinities spawning. Many mages gain telepathy afterwards, but only with their partner – and likewise, the ability to teleport to where their bonded partner was at any given time.

Yeah, Echizen Ryoma didn’t seem to be the type of mage to enter into a soulbond with anyone else, especially not at his age. Then again, Fuji has seen dumb students do it just to prove they could, or to see how it would boost their magic. If nothing else, Fuji figures it would at least serve as a lesson in permanence and to finish reading instructions. Healers are indeed powerful, but even they can’t undo that kind of commitment – that’s why the ritual makes each person vow thrice after all.

“Same goes for Kirihara I presume?”

Instead of snorting, Tezuka pales a little, but nods all the same and replies, “to the best of my knowledge.”

“No harm in trying anyway.” Fuji answers, unwavering.

So yes, the next week and a half could be characterized as uneventful, but it isn’t by any means fruitless. At least the calls and the impromptu drop-ins prove to be interesting conversations if nothing else, and Tezuka’s lessons break up the monotony of crossing names off a very long list of Seigaku students the two of them may have ever interacted with.

Fuji grows to learn Tezuka’s routine, which hasn’t deviated too far from what he did when he used to make the short journey to Seigaku. After all, the man lives in a secluded enchanted forest close to the school just so he could jog there and back, and it is only out of further magical injuries did he reluctantly agree to home-stay lessons instead. Fuji doesn’t wake up early enough to meet him for his morning run, but he does join in on the afternoon strolls. The call of the forest greets him each time, rejuvenating, humming beneath his skin, an ancient kind of song. He wonders if Tezuka feels it too – feels it still.

There is not much shared, but Fuji still counts it a victory when he learns Tezuka’s age instead of his birthday, his hometown instead of stories of his childhood, the best student he’s ever had instead of the worst. Tezuka’s expression is always carefully masked as he sidesteps the inquiries – he’s as honest as the day they met, but as Fuji suspected since the beginning, it’s a careful craft.

During the next round of lessons, Fuji drops the question in person. It’s amusing in a different tact now that he knows them. For example, Kaidoh simply hisses without giving a straight answer, but then adds how he wouldn’t snitch on a friend even if Ryoma considered him one and told him his damn secrets. Momoshiro on the other hand, had clutched onto his stomach laughing, saying how Ryoma would have never trusted him with that information, but he isn’t the type to hide anyway and to relax. After all, the kid would be back at Seigaku in another week or so after his suspension because he, despite appearances, is quite fond of the school.

Therein lies the fallback Fuji would hate to use, waiting out the clock until they both return to the school, but it’s one that offers him a little peace as the calls drag on with no clues. Kirihara is seemingly a ghost, with few students at Seigaku having interacted with him much in the past year, much less confident enough to call him a friend. Yanagi, a recent graduate, gives Fuji some places Kirihara has frequented in the past when he was suspended (unlike Ryoma, it wasn’t his first time), but they all come up empty. 

Fuji’s lips twitch uncomfortably at the whole chase after his pen hovers over the last name on the list, surprisingly Yukimura, which came out of a conversation with Bunta a few days earlier.

“You wanted to get a hold of Akaya?” Yukimura’s voice greets him, velvety soft.

“Yes, it’s important. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he is? Or how to get a hold of him?” Fuji cuts right to the chase.

A pause on the other line, a ruffle of papers, and what Fuji thinks is the sound of Sanada pacing.

“What is this for?”

“It’s … for a client. Unfortunately, I can’t say more, I’m sure you understand, but all I want is to talk. Bunta said how you two were close, and I promise you I don’t mean him any harm.” Fuji explains, covering his bases.

Yukimura sighs on the other line.

“He did tell me this in confidence, but I do owe you, don’t I? If you just want to talk, I suppose he wouldn’t mind the brief interruption.” He muses aloud.

Fuji’s heart leaps – a lead, finally! He whips his head around to look at Tezuka, his eyes fired up, giving more up than he had intended to. But good news, in between spending half the lesson yesterday telling Jirou to stay awake and dead ends upon dead ends, they deserved good news.

“Yes, just to talk. If you don’t mind the trouble. And you don’t owe me at all, Yukimura, it was my job, and my pleasure to help.”

Yukimura chuckles lightly on the other line.

“Ever so diplomatic. I’ll send you the coordinates in a bit; don’t tell him it was me.”

Grinning, Fuji thanks the other man again, snickering when he hears _wouldn’t it be obvious it was you_ in Sanada’s characteristic acerbic tone just before the connection cuts off.

“He knew?” Tezuka asks, and there it is again, a silvery bright vein of hope, the one Fuji too has been chasing, not only in the case – but in him.

“Yeah, we’ll have to go to them though. Can you rearrange your schedule? Just this once?”

Fuji expects a bit of a fight because, well, he was here solely due to Tezuka’s insistence to remain put for his students, making Fuji break his rule in lieu of getting a juicy case in return. It was probably a bright decision on the other man’s part though, given how they’ve been at this almost two weeks. While Tezuka’s not likely to starve for income, Fuji has seen firsthand the progress his students have made in that short period of time – Sakuno especially. He swears when her stream had finally stayed still between her fingers that he was as damn near proud as she was – and Tezuka too, even if his face didn’t quite show it.

Instead, Tezuka’s eyebrows drop, as if the ask was easy, the easiest thing in the world. Tension visibly melts off those broad shoulders of his, and he nods, rises to his feet.

“Yeah, I’ll make some calls.”

Fuji watches Tezuka’s back disappear up the stairs, phone in hand.

Suddenly, where there previously sat uplifting joy from a giant leap forward in the case, now Fuji only feels a resounding, crestfallen silence.

They could be nearing the end of the case, the end – their inevitable departure.

(He should feel happier than he does.)

Yukimura sends him the coordinates later that night and Fuji stares at it in confusion for a short while before bursting into a guffaw. He wasn’t anywhere remote or hiding, but more so just throwing a devilish middle finger to Seigaku in his own unique way.

How childish, Fuji thinks, but that isn’t horribly out of the ordinary. They were children at school after all, and Fuji too, has been through a rebellious phase.

It’s just far enough that Fuji readies a teleportation array for the journey, even if he would have much rather preferred Tezuka’s company on a brisk half-day walk to their point of destination. It is supposed to be a short trip, but Fuji prepares for a longer stay, just in case. He’s not afraid of tomorrow; they did Tezuka wrong after all, and he just wants answers. No need to be nervous over interrogating a child; Fuji’s done much worse.

That doesn’t explain why he’s lying awake at night though, unable to drift off the way he usually does in five minutes flat. His ceiling – no, Tezuka’s guest ceiling – has never looked so interesting.

It must be how his stomach is stirring with something strange and unusual, how much he wants to help Tezuka, how much he needs this to go right, desperately, awfully. How much he wants to see Tezuka smile, just once, with him at his best, magic swirling around him like he’s the center of the universe, wind trapped in his palm, his hair, his soul.

Fuji shuts his eyes, but the images become even more vivid: Tezuka in the center of a whirlwind. He sees a wistful smile hinging at the corner of his mouth, a slight lift in his bangs, his eyes shining bright past the glare of his glasses. He sees Tezuka, filled to the brim with power, pink dusting his cheeks, as if he’s been set free somehow.

His wrist feels naked in the dark for the first time in his life. It isn’t until then that Fuji realizes he’s never cared until now.

(Because he’s met many powerful people, of all types and walks of life. Fuji knows where he stands on that hierarchy.

He knows power, and he knows those who can stand by him as his equal, in every sense of the world – magic, intellect, integrity, strength of will.

It just – it isn’t until now that he’s met someone that he really, truly, wants to get to know.)

After many days of trying, today becomes the first day Fuji almost beats Tezuka to the kitchen, just a few footsteps behind. Now, he could have woken up much earlier and waited for Tezuka’s routine to kick in, a man of habits as he was, but Fuji also hates wasting time, and so he slowly moved up his wake-up alarm until he was sure to bump into Tezuka.

At 6:37am, Fuji stifles a yawn, and paints a smile on his face instead.

“Good morning, Tezuka. Almost beat you today, didn’t I?”

Tezuka stretches absentmindedly before he opens up the fridge, grabbing a few eggs in a makeshift carton and a chunk of cheese.

“Almost.”

Fuji takes it in stride; it’s the closest he’s gotten after all. Not counting his morning run yet – but one step at a time.

“Do you mind grabbing some vegetables from the bottom tray?”

“Which ones?”

“Making an omelette today, so your choice.”

“What about you?”

Tezuka doesn’t even turn around, already cracking an egg with only one hand into a blue striped bowl.

“Whatever you’d like.”

Fuji resists his urge to try out his stranger inventions and opts for spinach and mushrooms instead.

Okay, maybe he grabs a few banana peppers and just floats the idea to Tezuka, as a joke … mostly.

His eyes widen when Tezuka chops it up without a second thought and throws it into the mix, even when Fuji gapes a little at the motion.

“T-Tezuka, you didn’t have to – ” Fuji was hoping for a little scowl, or a question or two – maybe even a small laugh if he was lucky.

Instead, he gets this: tightly-knit eyebrows and the shiny bronze allure of his eyes lit up by the rising sun, a tiny, perhaps made-up curl of Tezuka’s upper lip.

“Whatever you’d like. I meant it.” Tezuka repeats.

Tezuka’s expression doesn’t betray himself even when he munches on the banana pepper omelette. Fuji thinks it’s quite good actually, and even adds on a bit of that special hot sauce. Even though Tezuka swallows every bite slowly, Fuji has a feeling Tezuka’s just putting on a strong front.

Which is still impressive! Honestly.

“Your schedule’s clear?”

Tezuka nods.

“Ootori said he’s okay to reschedule, and Momoshiro sounded overjoyed by the news.”

Fuji snickers, imagining Momo’s overly expressive face and sigh of relief.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

He unfolds a small scroll of their immediate county, a circle already drawn neatly in ink in preparation. Tezuka inhales sharply when he sees it.

“Kirihara’s … there?”

Fuji rolls his eyes affectionately.

“I know. He sure has character. Now, grab on.”

Fuji’s palm is already touching the map, concentrating on the circle in question, just a little bit of general magic honed in to hopefully make their journey smoother - in case his mind wanders. It shouldn’t be a big concern here, given how close their destination was, but force of habit he supposes. He shivers when Tezuka’s hand touches the scroll too shortly after, his pinky brushing past Fuji’s own accidentally, definitely accidentally.

“I haven’t used one of these in a while.” Tezuka admits softly.

“Wind users, tsk tsk. The teleportation really spoils you, doesn’t it?”

Tezuka does not laugh, nor does he get mad. Fuji should be used to this kind of response by now, how Tezuka’s choice of language and the staccato of his voice wash over him like a sacrosanct peace.

“I moved close to Seigaku for that originally, yes, at least during winters,” a pause, right before the circle glows from the activation, “I miss it.”

Fuji shuts his eyes and focuses on the coordinates Yukimura sent instead of the millimeter of sorrow in Tezuka’s voice, doubling down on where they want to go.

“Let’s get it back.”

They arrive in a stumble, and Fuji’s hand drops immediately to his side in the aftermath to examine their surroundings.

The sound of a river rushing past gently nearby, enchantments simmering in the air, a small cabin that looks rather unappealing at first glance, but to those who know, is a little more than unordinary.

It was the starting grounds for Seigaku, back when it was initially conceived decades ago. The story itself isn’t grand - a couple of friends thought it would be fun if they could just have an eternal sleepover together while showing off their magic to each other. And so, they built a cabin where that could happen. Somehow, the concept morphed into a school, because as myths go, the very next day, they did show off their magic to each other, a bit too much, and said experiment set the newly crafted cabin aflame.

Needless to say, this isn’t the original cabin, but it was henceforth protected with special properties, to take in those who have magic in their heart and want to truly explore it, to expand if many people required it at once, to be resilient to magical attacks or curses. Nanjiroh apparently spent quite some time here, meditating, or inviting women over to be mesmerized by his spells. Fuji had no idea, but the cabin was a beautiful legend that kids fell in love over, and he too, had once been that kid.

But he’d never needed it, never felt the need to come out so far just to play magic house. It sometimes became a little tourist attraction, but not a place to stay, rusty around the edges and its upkeep minimal, nothing special.

“Have you been here before, Tezuka?”

Tezuka purses his lips.

“Once.” He says, in a way that shuts down the conversation.

No need to push, Fuji knows by now, and knocks on the door. The door swings wide open, because it was built to never reject any willing magic user that sought it, even if another already frequented its premises. That was why Fuji knew if Kirihara was here, they’d catch him, and he’d find a way to make the stubborn kid talk.

The inside of the cabin looks more or less empty, but Fuji spots a door and some stairs at the very end, indicating that it has already become a multi-room dwelling.

Maybe Kirihara was here with someone? And this wasn’t a huge fuck you to being suspended on the rights of magical experimentation outside class hours in the birthplace of magical experimentation itself? Maybe he just wanted to have some alone time with his other half.

A capped head pokes through the door at the end of the room, and _oh_ , Fuji did not expect this.

Echizen Ryoma looks straight at him, folding his arms with a smirk on his face, just as cocky as everyone has described him, the splitting image of his father.

“Took you guys long enough.”


	8. the seal

Fuji’s first reaction at the greeting is naturally shock, but that fades, no awe to be found. It isn’t like they were trying a sneak attack on either of them – the first thing they did was call their goddamn cell phones after all – nor were the two of them really hiding away in obscurity.

Although Echizen’s shit eating grin could convince him otherwise.

“Echizen.” Tezuka says behind him, perfectly authoritative.

Echizen’s eyes widen a little; he takes a half-step forward.

“Professor?”

“Well, who’d you think it would be? Why else would Fuji Shuusuke be here?” Another voice interrupts their brief conversation, louder and dare he say, more obnoxious.

Kirihara makes his appearance by jumping out from the shadows. He dusts off his pants and leans against the wall in a slump, his face sulky.

“Certainly not to praise us, that’s for sure. Now what happened, your bounty prize finally came in handy? I’m sure people jumped at the chance to get at Echizen Nanjiroh’s brat.” Kirihara recites, rolling his eyes. Echizen yelps out in protest, elbowing the other boy.

Fuji sighs, and moves his way closer so they could at least get things clear and straight. The room seems to come alive with the knowledge of four mages here, pulsing with energy and expanding its space to accommodate the extra head count.

“No, I didn’t pay for this information, and my source would prefer to stay confidential, I’m sure you would understand why.” Fuji answers sweetly.

Kirihara looks taken back for moment, and then his eyes narrow, darting wildly between Echizen and Tezuka.

“You two weren’t here for him – you were here for _me._ ” He says in realization.

Sharp boy, Fuji thinks to himself, but files that observation away for now.

“No, well, both of you. This is unexpected, in the best way of course.” Fuji says.

That doesn’t fool Kirihara, whose sneer only gets larger.

“So, the captain spilled the beans huh. Let me guess, you pulled a favour, from before with him, am I right? Captain’s too nice, I’ve always said.”

Tezuka mouths _captain_ next to him and Fuji moves in to explain. Clearly he had shared that information with only one person, so the cat’s out of the bag.

“Yukimura is very kind, and if you knew of the risks, you must have been okay with being found. He cares a great deal for you given your history, so I know he gave that information up willingly.”

Echizen snorts.

“And here I was, thinking it was weird how you kept looking at the door even though you were adamant we tell _no one_ where we were, even in such an obvious place. All to what, impress Fuji Shuusuke?”

Kirihara seethes.

“He did captain a favour. Don’t you want him to help heal your precious professor too?”

That doesn’t seem to get a big rise out of Echizen at all, seemingly used to Kirihara’s snark.

“Could’ve done without all the trouble and just called him up. And Tezuka’s _your_ professor too.”

“Shut up. You didn’t do it either!”

Fuji stares at the two in amusement, bickering like it’s an old habit they can’t kick, like they’re the only ones in the room. They had what, wanted to be discovered eventually, and deliberately made it a bit annoying to track them down, all so that…Fuji could prove something? So, they too could prove something?

They both felt apologetic, in their own ways. Because Tezuka means something to them too.

“Well, I’m here now. And I’m sure you know what I have to ask.” Fuji starts to speak.

“Yes, and the answer is, we can’t replicate it.” Echizen butts in, crossing his arms.

“Hey!”

“It’s true. Why beat around the bush?”

“Because you’re making us sound like fools you _idiot –_ ”

“Kirihara.” Tezuka says, and the two instantly stop arguing, as if Tezuka’s voice was law.

“Thanks, Tezuka, but that wasn’t what I was going to ask. Since you brought it up however, what exactly were you two getting up to here?” Fuji questions, frowning.

Kirihara has the audacity to look annoyed at the question, while Echizen continues with his aloof, displeased demeanor.

“You go, since you _insisted._ ” Echizen spits out, nonchalant.

“Fine. After the incident, headmistress obviously chewed us out, and then asked for details on what happened, presumably to both punish us and help professor Tezuka. So, we kept our mouths shut.” Kirihara says.

“Which obviously didn’t help.”

“In hindsight, yeah. Still got suspended, still got tossed out on our own for a while, felt guilty, yada yada yada. We could have just given in right then, but that would have felt a bit cheap, you know?”

Tezuka’s glare doesn’t let up, his brows furrowing like he doesn’t quite understand Kirihara’s line of reasoning.

But Fuji gets it.

“You wanted to come with a solution, not ask for more answers.”

“Yeah, in no mood for fucking handouts. Also was far too poor to hire anyone like you,” Kirihara sniggers, “so, we figured the best way was to replicate the problem, and then figure out how to fix it. Like what we were taught.”

Tezuka’s lip twitches.

“That _is_ what I taught you. Except you did it without supervision.”

Echizen rolls his eyes.

“That’s why we’re here. That’s where all this started right? Without supervision or anything? The way it’s meant to be. We thought it’d be inspiring.”

“It’s foolish.” Tezuka replies.

“Either way, didn’t get too far with it. The energy wasn’t as strong as when it went down, and we didn’t have a test subject here to verify things anyway.” Kirihara sighs.

Fuji freezes, both alarm bells and a rush of brilliance colliding all at once in his head.

“That’s the problem. You don’t replicate an experiment without all the ingredients. You’d need someone like Tezuka in the mix, if not him then someone of his caliber.”

“Like hell we were going to find someone as powerful as Tezuka to volunteer himself for our experiment, no offence.” Echizen says bluntly.

Fuji blinks open his eyes, dead serious.

“I mean it. You were right to follow Tezuka’s teachings. You can’t use him, because his magic is sealed now, but you can use me. And he can be here to supervise.”

Tezuka reaches one arm out right in front of Fuji to block him off. He hadn’t realized he was moving closer out of excitement, the adrenaline of it, but it isn’t as if he was going to physically commit a blundering mistake – and even so, it isn’t as if Tezuka’s lone arm could stop him.

“No. That’s foolish too. What if you lose your magic as well?”

Fuji shakes his head.

“I mean, they should demonstrate what they’ve tried to do for the last few weeks first, and I’ll look for clues, but from what it sounds like, what happened was due to a unique mix of magical elements, so the best way _is_ to replicate it. We’ll back away before the worst of it implodes or whatever it is. But this is it, Tezuka, we need this. We found it, the part that matters.”

“It’s too risky. You shouldn’t get involved in the midst of this.” Tezuka repeats, like he didn’t hear the pros of it, Fuji’s advice, how this is the best, the only way really.

“It’s actually my job to be involved in this.” Fuji deadpans; it lands awfully flat.

“If you lose your magic over this – ”

“- that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Call in someone else. Another wind user. Your powers aren’t on the same level as mine before this anyway. We can get another expert -”

Fuji’s heart lurches, heated with tension, want, and frustration brewing all at once. This is the most worked up he’s ever seen Tezuka Kunimitsu, and Fuji wishes it was under different circumstances, because for a lack of better words, it blows him away.

“It isn’t on par with yours, but I suspect very few people would be. I have other affinities to get me out of trouble, and I know what I’m signing myself up for. It should be me.” Fuji insists, placing one hand on top of Tezuka’s, folding his arm down.

“Fuji…”

“It’s okay. I’m a professional, remember? This is why you’re paying so much for me.” Fuji teases, turning his attention back to the other two students, who have somehow magically stayed out of this conversation despite their dispositions to butt into everything they could.

“If I see anything, I mean _anything,_ I’m dragging you back out.” Tezuka says in lieu of an answer, and all Fuji can think is that protective is a nice colour on him.

“Fine, but it’ll be fine.” Fuji murmurs, and he hopes he isn’t telling a lie in the making.

They go through a few practice rounds before lunch and repeat the scenario over and over again. It turns out having three people here who went through the same event is both extremely helpful in recreating it – but three different opinions prove also to be quite a laborious task. After many renditions, they settle on the exact sequence of events, electric burns already fading from the floorboards.

First, the clash of spells: Kirihara’s turns out to be an underdeveloped form of borrowing his opponent’s magic, while Echizen’s was ironically trying to sterilize his opponent’s magic by shocking them, literally. Then came Tezuka – specifically the barrier he erected. The other man couldn’t exactly demonstrate, but through sheer virtue of words, Fuji bit his tongue and struggled to replicate it, the range and strength of it. By the end, he’s not sure if it will be able to withstand the same force Tezuka’s did, especially after witnessing Kirihara and Echizen in action. But it’s as close as he can get, as anyone can get on short notice, and he prays it will make do. Lastly, they need to hone in on the point of impact. The exact intensity, the build-up of energy and magic until the molecular structure of whatever they created breaks down and explodes.

That’s the moment Fuji needs to step in, throw in the last-minute barrier Tezuka thinks he probably threw up, and then dodge out of the way, observe at a safe distance.

As safe as they can get anyway.

After lunch, they try to perfect the details: the magnitude of the blasts at hand, the shape of the barrier, the very peculiar and fine act of throwing magic in between a fake impending explosion and ducking out of the way.

That is to say, it goes pretty poorly, and Fuji is very thankful for the magic-proof cabin which shields the space from the worst of the damage.

By dinnertime, however, they are in somewhat good working order, mainly because even Fuji has to admit, as good as the concept seemed, they could only push so far. Not without faithfully testing the last part. Fuji can hypothesize it, visualize it all he wants, but the fact remains that it’s a risk, one that shouldn’t be repeated endlessly, one that they need to take seriously.

So, instead they finetune everything else, except for the magical medley that Fuji is sure is the culprit, stopping just short of the build-up.

“This _sucks_. I’ve perfected this one so much more since then.” Kirihara grumbles after another run, letting out a scream of frustration as he lets a roaring whiplash of shadow curl around him before falling to a whimper.

“We all make sacrifices.” Echizen smirks. His own streaks of gold sizzle out as he too pulls back on Tezuka’s signal.

“We do. It’s going to be okay. Now, get some rest.” Fuji commands.

“Wait, what? I thought we were going to do it for real, the whole thing, start to finish.”

“First thing in the morning. We’re staying the night. The cabin generated rooms, did it not?” Fuji says, tapping his feet.

“Yeah, down the hall, but why not now?” Echizen asks, puzzled.

“Because, we’ve been at this all day, and that’s a recipe for disaster. I don’t want this to go wrong. It’s my magic, all of our magic, maybe even lives at stake here. We can wait a day, get some rest.”

Kirihara opens his mouth to protest, but instead, a yawn comes out.

“Point proven,” Fuji grins, “you know I’m right.”

Tezuka gives an affirmative nod as back-up, and that seems to be enough, despite Echizen’s scowl and Kirihara’s darkened eyes, full of energy yet to be burned off.

“Trust me and wait.” Fuji whispers before he leaves the practice room. He hears Tezuka following him shortly, and then two sets of less familiar footsteps too.

Just wait.

They leave to their rooms wordlessly, but Fuji isn’t quite ready to leave things there, not yet. Instead, he grabs onto Tezuka right outside his door, catching his wrist, careful to not be too aggressive with the action. Tezuka tenses up immediately, the way he did when Fuji first touched him, healed him, but he lets that go relatively quickly, and Fuji loosens his grip in response.

He takes two steps to orient himself around so he could face Fuji. While his eyes look expectant, dark-lidded and downcast, his lips were sealed.

“Your well-intentioned gesture was appreciated, but it wasn’t your place.”

Tezuka’s nostrils flare out, ever so slightly, a challenge.

“This case is about me, you are trying something dangerous with _my_ students – ”

Damn, of all things, Fuji did not expect Tezuka to get so upset so fast over this, already drawing that rare, ferociously protective side out of him. He opens his mouth to retort but Tezuka holds up his other palm out in a stop motion.

“ - and you, you should value yourself more.”

That statement makes Fuji gape, more audibly than he would have liked.

“You say that as if you know me,” he stutters out. “This was my job, _my_ decision. I’ve been doing it a long time and I’m _good at it_ , it wasn’t a split moment thing.”

Tezuka takes it in stride surprisingly, prepared. The tone of his voice is measured when he speaks again, captivatingly deep.

“I know you’re good at your job; I wouldn’t have hired you otherwise. But don’t tell me you didn’t leap into that decision fast, as if you were okay with the worst possible outcome.”

“You take risks in life, to get rewarded. And it’s worth the risk. You knew there was a risk when _you_ jumped in between them the first time around and now - ”

“They were my students! I’m responsible for their well-being! To you, I’m, I’m -” Tezuka raises his voice, stuttering at the end and fuck, Fuji’s never seen him so lost for words.

“What, disposable? Just a client?” Fuji yells.

“…yes!”

Then he clamps his mouth shut, his jaw shaky to Fuji’s practiced gaze, and it feels like an impasse.

“Come in. We shouldn’t be doing this out here.” Fuji says after a while, moving aside to let Tezuka in, Tezuka, who wordlessly obeys.

The door shuts with a soft click, and even though Fuji’s first move is to just lean back against the door, he doesn’t take in any of his surroundings. He doesn’t want to, not when Tezuka’s right in front of him, on the verge of spilling right out.

“So, what is it? You think you’re not worth the risk? Is that why Sumire put off the request for so long? She knew I’d come as fast as I could, and yet I wasn’t made aware until weeks later.” Fuji whispers.

Tezuka bites his lip in response, a good a confirmation as any.

“I let them down. I didn’t want someone to clean up my mess for me.”

Fuji shakes his head, because he gets that too, wanting to be enough, wanting to do it all. He loves the freedom and independence this job grants him, but he knows while he can call the shots, he needs help. He needs connections, and resources. He needs to put on a sweet smile with ten threats stored in his back pocket so he could trade favours. He’s never gotten very far alone.

But Tezuka, Tezuka’s used to being the person his students come to, who they depend on when they’ve lost their way. He’s not used to leaning on Fuji, putting his hopes in a virtual stranger, as famous as he may be.

But they’re not strangers, not anymore.

“It’s my job,” Fuji repeats, but it sounds superficial, an excuse, so he tries it another way, “it’s … I want to do this for you too. At first, I took the job because it was interesting, and I wanted to do Sumire a favour. She tricked me actually, but regardless, I wanted to see if you were worth my while. You know that I took quite a detour out of my normal operations for you. And … I liked it, I liked getting to know you, making breakfast together and watching over your students. I think you lead a good life, one that’s uncomplicated and one that I want to help you get back on track because…”

_Because you challenge me, because I keep chasing your smiles hoping that this will do the trick, because I’m hopelessly attracted to you despite you seemingly incapable of reciprocating or falling for my charms and damn if that isn’t part of your charm too._

“…because I see you, how you’re missing a piece of yourself at home, how your magic has left an itch you can’t scratch. I, you’re my client, but you’re also my friend by now, and I want to make things right for you. I promised you, and I don’t usually promise my clients. That makes this personal for me too.” is what Fuji says instead.

Tezuka doesn’t look convinced, and just when Fuji was about to keep going, spilling out his heart in increasingly less vague sentences, he receives a response.

“You shouldn’t have made it personal, not for me.”

“Why not?”

The browns in Tezuka’s eyes shrink a little, and he looks away.

“Because… I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You won’t, you can’t, and on what - ?”

Fuji feels the air from his lungs vanish when his back hits the door with unexpected force. Tezuka’s towering over him, one palm pressing into his shoulder, hard, and Fuji relishes in it. Their mouths are probably only about an inch apart, but that’s short enough for Fuji to feel Tezuka’s breath on him, the scent of pinewood.

“The scar, it was from a rebound when I was younger. I pushed myself too hard, and a mind-reading attempt went wrong. I couldn’t keep people’s thoughts out of my head, so I shut it out altogether. That’s what the scar is.” Tezuka whispers.

He sounds so incredibly angry with himself even with so few words, such quiet gnawing, like he’s waited eternity to air out his dirty little secret.

“The scar is self-imposed. You didn’t forget.” Fuji gasps out.

But he wanted to, he must have. Yet Oishi brought everything back, the memories of incident to the surface, the source of the seal, the pain, whatever Tezuka locked away of his own volition years ago.

He must’ve known when Fuji proposed it, that he’d have to face it all again, and he did it anyway. Because Fuji bet on it; because Fuji asked.

“The telepathy is under control now, but when he did that, I … realized how much else I suppressed. I was too young to know better, and too proud to seek help. Too proud to admit this.” Tezuka murmurs, never tearing his gaze away from Fuji, and Fuji doesn’t dare close his eyes in fear of missing a moment of Tezuka like this, as genuine and raw as he’ll ever get him.

“Then why are you admitting this to me now?” Fuji asks, daring, hopeful.

Tezuka answers him wordlessly by leaning his forehead down until they clink gently and meet, sucking the air right out of him. And then it happens, the smallest brush of lips against lips and Fuji’s too distracted, too stupefied to lean into it, to get what he’s been after.

To his utter surprise, Tezuka does it in his stead, his mouth pressing in harder against Fuji’s, like he’s struggling to ask for permission, like he’s seeking something he doesn’t know the name of.

The moment Fuji parts his lips however, Tezuka draws back, stumbling.

Fuji pants up to look at him, and instead of embarrassment, longing, shock, _anything_ – he sees only Tezuka, a blank slate and a half-frown.

“Because you’ve been looking for something from me that I can’t offer.” He says softly, bringing one finger to his mouth, dragging across the bottom lip as if to verify that, their kiss was real.

It wasn’t spectacular by any means, but Fuji didn’t need to verify it with touch to know it was real. It may not have been what he was chasing exactly, as everything comes together and dawns on him in a frenzy, but Tezuka seems to have read that in him anyway.

“You don’t smile not because you don’t like to, but because you can’t.” Fuji says, sliding down against the door until he hits the floor, bringing a hand to his forehead, perhaps to stop it from spinning so bad.

_All this time. Huh._

“I’m sorry. If I knew you would …”

Fuji laughs, a bit more manic than he’d like, but he needs to make something clear here. He tilts his chin up to look at Tezuka, because he has to say it, and he has to see Tezuka when he does.

“Would what, fall for you? You wouldn’t have told me sooner, and I’d still do the re-enactment tomorrow. Nothing changes Tezuka, and I don’t go back on my promises.”

“… I know you don’t. I’m sorry either way.”

Fuji tries to grin and will his eyes back to their usual state of joy, but he’s sure it comes across rather pained. Sure, it hurts to not get a resounding laugh or a smile out of his client once he wraps this case up, but Fuji’s never been one to dwell on things that can’t be fixed.

“Don’t be. You can thank me for tomorrow instead. Get some rest, will you? I trust you’ll watch over me and your two eccentric pupils.” Fuji rises to his feet, attempting to brush it all off.

“Of course I will. If anything looks even a little off-track tomorrow, you’ll all drop it at my command, is that clear?”

He looks stoic as always, even a little upset in advance, and despite it all, Fuji still feels so warm at the notion.

“Mmhm. And Tezuka?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” Fuji says, “for trusting me with your secret. I know it wasn’t easy.”

Tezuka grimaces before he leaves, but out of care or exhaustion, he chooses to let Fuji have the last word.

For all his lecturing, Fuji doesn’t rest well at all that night.

And in the morning, he sees and reckons Tezuka didn’t either.


	9. the reason

Everything’s geared to go shortly after breakfast. By the time Fuji gets up to meet the three of them, Tezuka has already chastised the two for living off meager unhealthy supplies of crackers and questionable expired jarred items. Food, of course, is one of the few things that magic makes easier to handle, cutting and cleaning and the like, but not so easy that hopeless mages who can’t cook stand a chance. It isn’t as if the cabin is devoid of a kitchen, but the two boys evidently didn’t bother with it regardless of its existence. It’s a good thing Fuji foresaw needing to stay a few days and packed some pre-made meals in advance. Just in case.

They eat the sandwiches in between casual conversation, and Fuji tries really damn hard not to look at Tezuka, lest his own face gives something away. He’s always prided himself on his poker face, but since meeting Tezuka and with the revelation last night, well, maybe he’s been an open book all along.

And today is not a day that they can afford more distractions.

Not that he could tell from peeking at Tezuka anyway, but he still wonders how the other man feels, how it’d feel to be in his head right now, with no barriers, nothing hidden between the two of them.

There’s a nervous energy in the air after the last bite goes down. It’s hard to avoid, a crinkly static, gray-silver, not quite wrong but tense all the same.

The inevitability before a do or die moment.

Not die, Fuji slaps himself mentally, because they absolutely will not let it get to that point. All three of them are strong, yes, and there is no failsafe, but they all know the repercussions of letting this drag out too far, the signals for backing off.

“Remember, the moment it gets too hard to hold down is when you let go. It will likely trigger the explosion.” Fuji reminds them. It’s the only part they couldn’t practice or replicate, because ironically it was the only part that mattered. Regardless, Fuji wants to control for all the variables, so they’re going to go through with the whole thing, beginning to end.

Echizen makes a tsk sound in affirmation, stepping towards his side of the room and Kirihara gives him a firm nod, ostensibly eager to prove himself, to please.

Tezuka’s off to the corner, watching the whole thing from afar; Fuji stands between the two, ready to step in at a moment’s notice.

“Now or never,” he says.

Echizen lets it fly first, a flash of electric sparks that slingshots in an arch towards Kirihara’s side. The other boy growls, getting serious. His curly hair whips past his face, teeth clenched as he too pushes his hands out. A sickly-violet shaded tornado flushes out between his palms and entraps the gold flares of Echizen’s attack just in time.

Fuji stares at the sight for the umpteenth time, still half shocked, half mesmerized as the blows build in power, a mirage of magic clashing, a braid of light and dark.

Well, that’s his cue.

Fuji steps into the middle of the room and forms a triangle between the three of them. With a sharp inhale, he lets the wind in him out, a shimmery barrier encasing them and subsequently locking Tezuka out.

“Okay, you can escalate it now.” Fuji commands after a few seconds, after his control of the barrier steadies into a firm dome, no longer shaky. He isn’t nearly as good as Tezuka would have been back then, and it feels all the more real in that moment, but this will have to do.

Echizen growls and twists his wrists, his magic roaring with it. In response, Kirihara grits his teeth and lets the dark tendrils of his own creation snake around the vines of Echizen’s magic, sizzling as it tries to break Kirihara’s shadows piece by piece.

Fuji can taste it now, being so close to the inevitable build-up, the kind that he’s always been fascinated with but was too smart to play with knowing the consequences. That’s always been the curse to his genius, of not taking risks – same as Tezuka. Except now, he’s more than willing, and he can watch it unravel, funnel it in reverse.

“Fuck, I can’t – not much longer!” Kirihara yells furiously.

His back’s almost up entirely against the barrier, the waves of his magic trying to encircle Echizen’s line of attack like a cocoon, fraying at the ends.

“We’ll see about that.” Echizen yells.

Sputters of electricity buzz in between the walls of Kirihara’s defence, bulging along the ends.

Kirihara groans, pressing his forearms together as if to brace himself, concentrate a bit better. At the same time, Echizen presses on, his cap long fallen off to the side, pushing forward, seeking that breakthrough.

“Now!” Fuji yells as the mess of magic before him builds up in magnitude, whirling right before his eyes.

The two boys shove their magic forward at the command, ducking off to the side right when Fuji closes in, his hands outstretched to entrap it.

_You don’t get anywhere without taking a little risk in life, right?_

Besides, he’s made so many exceptions for Tezuka already.

His magic trembles a little, possibly in fear, and then Fuji throws it all in, the barrier Tezuka said he used. The force of it pushes him back, and he ends up falling flat on his butt. He should scoot away further. There’s so much room within the initial shield but Fuji has to watch it, he has to see what magical entanglements this managed to drudge up.

“Fuji!”

The translucent barrier hits the ball of energy, but instead of shattering on impact, the barrier instead trembles at the touch. Suspended in mid-air, it twists around the medley of black and gold, wrapping around it before swallowing it whole.

And then, it ricochets right back in the direction it came from, like a boomerang in slow motion.

Right into Fuji.

Okay.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t far away enough, admittedly, too enraptured by the sight, but that rebound was definitely following him, in a way that magical rebounds don’t normally do, at least not so intellectually.

Fuji groans to himself when he comes to, and the first thing he sees is the amber of Tezuka’s eyes, a wildfire of fury.

“Why did you do that?”

“I did what we planned,” Fuji starts to explain, still dizzy still from the impact, and then he realizes it, his mouth open in an O.

The impact.

But he didn’t feel anything, it didn’t blast the area wide open, and the shield – the shield was down now, but it didn’t seem like it was with a struggle or anything which means –

Fuji clenches his hand, and then unfurls his fingers.

Nothing happens.

“You tried to summon it just now, didn’t you.” Tezuka says softly.

Fuji nods, not even bothering to lie.

The _I told you so_ doesn’t come from Tezuka, which is somewhat disappointing. Fuji would have maybe deserved the berating, but maybe it was better that Tezuka saved it. He was still trying to process what happened.

“Are you hurt?”

Fuji turns his head to look around the room, his neck making a cracking sound as he does. Echizen is frowning while Kirihara looks mad at himself, or at Fuji, he can’t really tell.

He runs one palm down the side of his cheek, dragging it slowly, unleashing a trail of healing magic in diagnosis out of reflex when it hits him.

Wait –

“I can still feel it.” Fuji murmurs.

“What?!” Kirihara hollers.

Fuji pushes himself off the ground with a wince, but his mind’s already sprinting a few more questions ahead and he needs to catch up with the answers.

“Sit down, Fuji.”

He hears Tezuka’s voice but he doesn’t heed him any attention. It’s just one quick experiment to prove his hypothesis, and he needs his full range of motion to do that. He takes a few strides towards the center of the room until there’s a bit of distance between him and the rest of them. There are weird aches alongside his abdomen, his backside, but nothing major. He can still do this.

With a glance upwards, Fuji begins to sweep his arms up slowly, hinging at his elbows. The tips of his fingers draw a majestic arch: a splash of water, an outline of a flame, a twitch of shadow, a drop of light.

Every affinity he has every mastered, except wind.

_The barrier._

“It ate it up.” Fuji says in awe to himself, looking down at his hands.

“It ate what up?” Someone pipes up, but Fuji doesn’t register whom.

“It, oh, that makes sense now.” Fuji’s smile widens, spinning around to face the other three, whose faces ranged from lost to livid.

They probably haven’t caught on yet.

Except, the crinkle in Tezuka’s eyebrow might suggest otherwise.

And sure enough, Tezuka opens his mouth.

“It’s a seal. That clash of magic, it amalgamated into a magic seeker.”

Fuji laughs, quite cheerily for someone who’s just lost an element under his belt.

“Yes, exactly! Kirihara was looking to borrow Echizen’s magic, and Echizen’s defence was to try to diffuse it forcefully by shocking it to pieces. When they came together, neither gave. Instead, it tried to do both, rip whatever magic it came into contact next apart and take it for its own.” He explains.

Echizen’s sullen expression picks up a bit.

“So what, your barrier, it tried to protect you…but what it was facing was too strong and it hit you instead.”

“And it ate up the source of that magic, my wind affinity. Only my wind affinity. It’s a classic rebound, with a bit more tenacity is all.”

“But that doesn’t explain why professor’s injury is lasting so long. Rebounds fade after a few days, weeks maybe, and healers can always speed it up.” Kirihara cuts in, picking at the holes of his theory.

“Right. I’ll need a healer’s diagnosis after this, but rebounds fade because the energy can’t stay inside your body the whole time. There’s nowhere for it to go.”

“Except if there is.” Tezuka murmurs in realization.

“Yes! It’s suppressed in your scar, like the rest of your emotions, it’s sucking in your magic too. We just have to set it free.”

It explains a lot. Why his telepathy is still working, but weak. It isn't necessarily tied to his wind affinity, but since the rest of his magic was all tied up, it would indeed be hard to summon and isolate just that one part. He isn't like Fuji after all. 

Tezuka bites his lip. Despite the answer being right in front of him, he didn’t look so sure … or happy.

Not that it was possible for Tezuka, maybe, but Fuji was feeling at least pretty damn pleased with himself at this.

He took a risk, and the reward was the answer. And even if the loss of one of his affinities was permanent, he was surprisingly okay with that.

“It’s not that easy, Fuji.”

“No, of course not. It’s an old injury and it will take time for you to nurse it back to what it was like before. But you’ll try, won’t you?”

Tezuka is silent, conflict swimming in his eyes, but Fuji already knows the end of that story. Because he’s going to write it for him, right here and now.

“You didn’t hire me here to give you an out,” Fuji says softly, clasping the other man’s hand. “You hired me to find you a way back in. You hired me to find you.”

Tezuka squeezes his eyes shut at the words, absorbing them, taking it in, taking Fuji in - and then opens them, a renewed determination in his gaze.

He squeezes Fuji’s hand back.

“And you did. You found me.”


	10. (not) the end

The rest? The rest is easy.

In hindsight, the case was easy too. Prodding information out of a man who hates to divulge anything more than he has to, tracking down kids who wanted to be found, losing a bit of himself and finding the answer along the way.

Fuji’s not too upset over how it turned out.

It was easy for Oishi to put the pieces together a few days later. By then, the rebound on Fuji had already almost faded completely, but he confirmed Fuji’s suspicions after a quick but thorough examination. Still, he reiterated how difficult peeling off years of suppressed emotional build-up in a magical scar could be, but left them exercises and some brews to ease the process. Tezuka took it with grateful thanks, and for the first time, Fuji thinks he sees Tezuka truly relaxed.

As relaxed as someone like Tezuka could be anyway.

A few days later, Fuji tries to leave.

Tezuka lets him.

Okay, maybe Fuji expected a phone call or something. They didn’t really discuss the fallout of it all in the aftermath. It was awkward, especially before Oishi came by. They didn’t discuss the first night in the cabin, nor did they fight again. In Fuji’s opinion, it was worse, not closing things off neatly and just letting it simmer. When he could summon wind magic again, that strain between them began to fade, but it wasn’t as easy as it was before. Tezuka, he was the same; he didn’t want to talk about it. And Fuji? He was quite the opposite, more conscious of his actions in those last few days than ever before. He didn’t want to tease Tezuka anymore, lest it led to discomfort, an insinuation that Fuji was asking for more despite his earlier rejection.

It was a rejection, right? He had laid it out there in the open, didn’t he? And Tezuka –

Tezuka had kissed him, saying he couldn’t give Fuji what he wanted.

It was an allusion to his emotional capacity, something he was working on now, so Fuji had a sliver of hope, more than a sliver. But he was also a pragmatist, stewing in the default state until proven otherwise.

And a pragmatist says Tezuka could have also meant how he couldn’t give Fuji what he wanted for a much simpler reason - because he didn’t reciprocate.

So why did he kiss him?

Fuji groans to himself, tossing in his own bed. Even after weeks of being back, it didn’t quite feel the same as living in Tezuka’s guest bedroom. He’s gotten a few more cases since then, but none that took more than a couple of days, none that thrilled him.

If it took losing his magic to fall in love with his job all over again, then maybe Fuji too had a problem that needed solving, by someone that was preferably not him.

He hears about Seigaku every once in a while, how Momo’s new invention has managed to hit the shelves after numerous modifications, how Kirihara managed to get himself suspended again, this time for something silly instead of dangerous, how Tezuka’s new students joke about wanting to go to their professor’s house and Kaidoh hissing at them in the background, warning them against doing anything stupid to that effect.

A few months after the incident, Fuji helps Sumire with another case, this time with a former pupil of hers with a post-puberty fire to put out.

Literally.

After his growth spurt, Kawamura’s magic had grown exponentially, to the point where he spontaneously bursts into flames. It never endangers or burns himself, much like other fire users, but he couldn’t put it out once it burned long enough. Instead, the only solution he’s found that always works is exhausting himself to sleep, the flames dying out with him.

Funnily enough, Fuji’s first thought was for Kawamura to get himself bonded to someone with a readily available water affinity so he could get a healthy douse whenever needed. Practicality aside though, after meeting Kawamura, the answer ends up just being an issue of control. Fuji guides him through the basics, and then sends him off to a specialist, mind buzzing alight with how well-suited Tezuka would be for the job, so in control of his desires and emotions that he downright lost them.

Not lost, chose to lock away, Fuji reminds himself.

Then he goes through a dry spell for a while, which happens, nothing wrong with that. Fuji takes the time to read up on his long backlog of books: novels, dramas, new magical catalogues. He sleeps in a bit more, learns to finally make those scones Tezuka made for him the first day they met, and he wonders, magic twitching under his skin, if he feels this way because he never got closure on what Tezuka had meant.

Because if the emotion thing was a problem, it didn’t have to be.

Fuji remembers reading Tezuka just as easily, reading between the lines of his face, the semi-tones of his voice. He remembers how close they were when their minds met, and how that was enough intimacy to last a lifetime. A smile is beautiful, and it carries weight, but Tezuka’s always showed he cares in other ways – in acts of service, in admissions of truth.

Fuji didn’t need it, if it came down to it. He can smile enough for both of them.

He gets woken up one morning at the break of dawn. He’s well aware that he made it hard for people to find him for many reasons, but a side effect of that Fuji realizes now, is that people tend to not seek him out the very first thing in the morning. He doesn’t have formal business hours, but he hadn’t ever had a potential client knock on his door this early before. Maybe he should crave out some new rules.

Regardless, Fuji drags himself out of bed, throws the nearest mage robe over himself, and combs his hair down. He pulls the door open, fully prepared to increase both his standards and prices for this early-bird client, at least in his head.

“It’s 6:30 in the morning. Can I help you in an hour or two perhaps?” Fuji asks with half-lidded eyes, in a voice that’s the perfect blend of sarcastic and sweet.

It comes out somewhat croaked, and he has to cough twice to himself to get his voice back on track.

“I made breakfast.” A familiar voice replies, and Fuji looks up, blinking fully awake to absorb the words, the sensation of it.

Tezuka’s looking at him, a box in hand, a small smile on his face, a bit crooked but still –

_Wait._

“You’re here. Wait, you’re… why? You’re _smiling_.” Fuji can’t help but babble out, his brain fizzling to a current of white noise.

That strange smile drops immediately.

“Let me in first?”

It was a question that didn’t need an answer, and Fuji scurries to do exactly that.

“Why are you here, Tezuka?”

“For you.” Tezuka says plainly, his expression a little wistful, and god, Fuji’s missed that, wanted more of it, the peace that was always blocked by the case at hand.

_The case!_

“I wanted to talk to you and thank you more. I wanted to make myself clear, but I felt ashamed that I didn’t do that sooner after you left. So, I wanted to do it right. It took longer than I had hoped, but … it’s okay now.” Tezuka explains himself.

“You mean … it’s all back?” Fuji asks, eyes widening.

When they had parted, Oishi had warned it would be a long journey, but with each layer that falls, a bit of Tezuka’s magic would return to him. He had stayed only long enough to see a breeze circling Tezuka’s fingers, and that was enough hope for Fuji, and he trusted Oishi with the rest, to check in on his patient.

That was fulfilling too, to leave his clients in the hands of experts who could take care of them in ways Fuji couldn’t.

“Yeah. It is.” Tezuka replies, and his mouth curls up ever so slightly on the right side, a semblance of a half-smile attempt.

Fuji giggles, unable to help himself.

“I’m… trying,” Tezuka says carefully, eyes downcast, his smile falling with it, “the muscles there feel like they’ve atrophied. I was told it will get better.”

“You don’t have to smile if you don’t want to, Tezuka. But it’s nice to have the option, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, “thank you, for giving that back to me.”

“I promised, didn’t I? You seem much happier for it.” Fuji can’t help but smile from ear to ear, warmth fluttering in his ribcage.

“Yes. And now, I want to return the favour, if you’ll still … I realize it’s been a long time.” Tezuka murmurs, hesitant, almost shy.

It takes Fuji a while for the insinuation to settle in, as smart as he is, and he’s torn between blushing and laughing.

“Are you courting me, Tezuka Kunimitsu? That’s so … so…” Fuji stutters, and then finally settles on, “so you, actually.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Tezuka admits, shrugging, “but I didn’t want to presume. You’re very well liked, and I don’t pretend you would have waited, especially since we haven’t been in contact.”

Fuji wants to say he didn’t wait, not on purpose anyway, but instead, he blurts something else completely without thinking.

“So, make up for it. The time we lost,” he challenges. “and tell me what you can offer me now that you didn’t want to a year ago.”

Tezuka takes a step closer, right into Fuji’s personal bubble, and unlike everyone else who’s ever tried before him, Fuji lets Tezuka stay there and take his hand.

“Everything I am now, and everything I’m working on learning and finding out.”

His thumb brushes gently against the inside of Fuji’s wrist, and Fuji takes it as the promise of what’s to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Prince of Tennis was my first ever fandom years and years ago, so this feels kind of like coming full circle <3
> 
> & thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed the journey as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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